


stitch up any wounds and heal the scars they leave behind

by soniclipstick (veriscence)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batfamily Shenanigans (DCU), Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Coming Out, Domestic Batfamily (DCU), Everyone Needs A Hug, Family Bonding, Family Shenanigans, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Pseudo-Incest, Secret Relationship, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake-centric, quarantine fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:00:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 46,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23916436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veriscence/pseuds/soniclipstick
Summary: As Gotham faces an adversary that cannot be stopped by batarangs, the Batfamily find themselves in quarantine. In which, among other things, Tim and Jason are embarrassingly bad at hiding their relationship, Bruce is trying to be a good dad, dammit, Damian’s an angry little baby who loves his family, and Alfred always knows everything.A collection of interconnected one-shots about the Batfamily growing closer through the COVID-19 pandemic.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 338
Kudos: 892
Collections: Best of the Batfamily





	1. Babs and Tim

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re here for strict adherence to canon, then you have been deceived, my friend. I haven't read Batman comics at least half a decade, except for some Batgirl. 
> 
> I hope everyone's staying safe, I'm immunosuppressed so basically on Day 1 of my work from home schtick, I started to wonder how Tim would handle it. Thus this fic was born. It wouldn't be what it is today without Rachel for the beta and for listening to my long rambling voice messages about this fic. 
> 
> Also I shamelessly stole the title from the lyrics of How I Feel by A Tribe Called Red.
> 
> I'm not sure how long this will be, but I have 5 chapters down already, and I'm thinking that there will be another 4 or 5. I'll be updating rather sporadically but I have never abandoned a story I started posting and I'm not planning on starting now:)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Babs just wanted to sneak into Burnside campus to pick up some mid-terms to grade during quarantine, and finds an immunocompromised Tim Drake asleep in her lab instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6i9bnXFWzoTZNsOrZT1mep?si=IfjBKplMSnqw3UWf7ZlgVA)!

Most sane people, in the face of a global pandemic, would choose to shelter in place. Most people missing their spleen, that organ that plays an essential role within the immune system, would consider self-isolation necessary and life-saving. Most people aren’t Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises by day, vigilante Red Robin by night, member of Young Justice over the weekends and college student at Gotham University in the remaining hours that should technically be allocated to sleep.

This isn’t an excuse or an explanation. Still, it is part of the context behind why, when Barbara Gordon decides to use her TA access at the definitely-shut-down-due-to-the-COVID-19-outbreak Gotham University to find the mid-term papers her supervisor has no recollection of receiving, she finds her ex-boyfriend’s baby brother. Tim is asleep at a desk in the back of the basement lab, noise-cancelling headphones peeking out of his mop of raven hair. She calls said ex-boyfriend, who only says, “Sorry Babs, Tim’s missing,” before hanging up on her. Babs thanks her eidetic memory for searing this conversation permanently into her brain. She’ll have to replay it the next time she ponders dating Dick fucking Grayson again. No matter how good that ass looks.

She calls the only sane member of the entire family. Alfred picks up on the third ring. “Miss Barbara, how may I help you?”

“I heard you’re looking for a baby bird?” Babs asks, holding her phone between her cheek and her shoulder so she can find that damn disinfectant in her bag. Three Chapstick tubes, a couple of batarangs, an HDMI cable and a couple of receipts later, she finds the little bottle and draws it out.

“Indeed, Master Bruce tried to find him by his phone, but it seems to be off at the moment.” Babs hums as she squirts some disinfectant onto her hands and rubs them together. Once it’s dried, she looks at Tim’s pitiful cell phone and pokes at it. Yep, that’s a dead phone if she’s ever seen one.

“I’m guessing he’s meant to be in self-isolation, Alfred?”

“Indeed, as Master Timothy is no longer the proud owner of a spleen, he falls within the high-risk group for the coronavirus infection. He needs to be isolated. I assume you’re calling because you’ve found him?

“Yep. He’s drooling over his keyboard in the comp sci lab on Burnside campus. Send B this way.”

Alfred’s sigh of relief is palpable. “Thank you, Miss Barbara, I’ll pass along the message.”

“Sure thing, Alfie, see you around. Stay safe.”

Babs looks at Tim and then pats his hand with hers. Tim startles awake with all the elegance of a colt, his arms coming up to touch his keyboard and his right foot slamming against the desk leg. “I choose you, Pikachu!” He exclaims, then looks up. “Babs?”

“Timbo, did you completely miss the like 42 e-mails calling for all students to get off campus?” Babs asks, sitting down a good six feet away from Tim.

“Oh no, the deadline! My programme!”

“It’s fine, Tim.”

“No, it’s not, it’s due on Monday and—”

“—and I’m your TA, and the project’s been postponed. Tim, the city’s on lockdown, everything’s closed except for hospitals, grocery stores and pharmacies. How long have you been here?”

Tim pauses. “What day is it?”

Babs groans. “Okay, up and at 'em, buddy.”

There’s a whoosh, and suddenly, Superman is standing in front of them. “Hey Tim, seems your dad’s been worried about you.”

Tim goes from tired and confused to bright red in the face. “Dang Tim, you scared B,” Babs says, standing up and packing Tim’s things while he sits there in shock. “Can’t believe he actually let you in the city, Superman.”

“Extraordinary situations,” Clark says with an amused smile. “Now, I’m meant to be taking you to the manor, young man.”

Tim groans and stands up. “This really wasn’t necessary, I can get myself home, you know. I am an adult.”

“Is said adult going to tell me why he’s still on a campus that’s off-limits to students because there were 14 confirmed cases of COVID-19 in the math department? You know that’s two buildings over, right?” Babs sighs and digs into her bag again. She pulls out a filter mask that’s meant for Scarecrow, but if it can handle fear toxin, it can probably handle this virus. “Wear this.”

“Babs!”

“Son, you have a compromised immune system, please just do as she says so I can take you home,” Clark tells him, and oh man, Babs loves him. _Loves him._

Tim sighs and puts on the filter. “Can we go now?”

Superman looks at Babs. “You’ll be okay?”

“Yeah yeah I live in Burnside, I’ll be home in 5 minutes. Thanks, Superman.”

Clark smiles at her, and she’s turning into jelly. Damned good-looking men with piercing blue eyes and perfect butts. He holds out his arms for Red Robin to step into, and then again with a whoosh, they’re gone. Babs takes a moment to collect the mid-term papers she came to pick up in the first place and then books it like a bat out of hell, pun intended.


	2. Bruce and Tim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bruce is a worrywart, and Damian loves Tim Drake, but will cut you if you ever tell Tim that.

_Bruce Wayne has been called a lot of names, and one would think that Tim Drake, who spent his formative years as Batman’s number one fan and stalker, would remember a few of them. If he had, he would maybe have realised all on his own that the world’s greatest detective was thoroughly aware of the identity of Tim’s new secret boyfriend. It’s not that hard to put two and two together and come up with Jason Todd._

_At least, not in hindsight._

_Bruce was well aware of Tim and Jason’s new friendship formed from working on a major missing persons case over the last year. He knew while he and Dick shared a photo album of Tim’s younger years, Jason demanded two of his very own. He also knew that Tim was eating better and understanding Jane Austen references, which should have been a red flag all on its own._

_The final puzzle piece fit itself in place in late fall. When Bruce had driven by Burnside campus to surprise Tim with lunch, he’d spotted them sitting on a bench in front of the Comp Sci building, each with one leg thrown over the bench and facing each other. With that garishly purple maxi-scarf wrapped around Tim, not even Vicki Vale would recognise the Wayne Enterprises CEO. Bruce has seen that monstrosity wrapped around Steph too often to not cringe at it on sight. There were two reusable coffee thermoses and a Tupperware box filled with fresh veggies between them. Bruce had sat in the car, wondering whether he should join them, and mainly whether Jason would start a fight out in the open, when Tim had leaned forward to press a kiss to Jason’s jaw. Jason had smiled, this fragile contented thing that made Bruce’s eyes blur with memory, and had grasped Tim by the chin and kissed him on the mouth. Bruce had driven home in silence, cataloguing the changes between Jason’s soft smile as a child and the one he’d seen today._

_Now it’s March, and Bruce still doesn’t know whether he should admonish them for their abysmal attempts at subterfuge or not – he’s pretty sure he taught both of them better than this. But he doesn’t want to out them to the family or himself before they’re ready. Besides, he’s cross-checked their movements on CCTV recently, and they’re much better at sneaking around on patrol. Therefore, the most likely hypothesis is that they feel safe enough in the manor and the WE building (and the Batcave, goddamn it) to let their guard down._

_Initially, he had simply said nothing because he was unsure of his own reaction to this development. Bruce had wondered if this was really safe, to trust Jason, who’s hurt Tim time and time again, with Tim’s heart. No matter how much looking at this gentler Jason made him ache, this wasn’t the boy he’d raised anymore. Jason was still the Red Hood, and even if he had stopped using lethal force, the aftereffects of the Lazarus Pit still lingered in his head. But whenever Bruce silences the ever-present grief that arises at the thought of Jason, he remembers the boy who was so angry at the world and yet still had an armful of love to give it. And if there’s anyone who deserves it, it’s Tim._

_It’s only after Bruce had returned from his misadventures in time travel that he realised how much Tim had been suffering over the last few years. Tim needs love and support, but their relationship is still going through too many hiccups for Bruce to even consider attempting to force Tim home unless the goal is to make him leave Gotham City again. Instead, Bruce (with the excuse of a New Year’s resolution) enforces Saturday family dinners at the manor. He asks Dick to pick Tim up on his way from Blüdhaven to ensure that he makes it. Sometimes, so does Jason. More often than not, Jason is already at the Nest when Dick shows up, and will follow Tim home. By late January, Bruce realises that there has been a significant improvement in Tim’s general well-being over the last few months. There’s a strong positive correlation between Jason’s presence, and Tim looking like he’s slept more, drunk less coffee, and has even washed his hair that week._

_Bruce observes that Jason seems more at ease with himself and the world these days. And when he isn’t, he has Tim to smooth over the wrinkles. When Jason gets hit with whatever fear gas the Scarecrow has cooked up this time, and nearly shoots Tim and then himself in the head, it’s Tim that talks him down. It’s Tim that takes him home and Tim who calls Bruce the next morning to tell him Jason’s okay. It’s with Tim next to him that Jason comes back to patrol with rubber bullets the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that._

_So Bruce lets them believe he’s still oblivious. It’s annoying having to somersault out of the kitchen in the manor when he walks in on a flour-dusted Jason pressing a kiss to Tim’s forehead, but he can get his coffee from the Batcave. It’s a pain when Bruce has to grab Damian by the cape and lead him away from a roof where it looks like the Reds are on a chilidog date. Still, all he has to do is mention that Nightwing is in the opposite direction, and Damian stops struggling and obeys. He nearly draws the line in the Batcave when he walks into the showers after patrol and sees something he’s seriously considering having wiped from his brain via Martian Manhunter. But after Bruce slinks up the stairs to the master bathroom, he realises that Jason is voluntarily in the manor, and not because he’s bleeding profusely from somewhere vital. That’s worth all of the awkwardness that Bruce has to face. Besides, one of these days, they’re going to have to tell him. June is Pride Month, maybe they’ll inform the Family then. That’s only a few months from now, and he’s Batman. He knows how to resist enhanced interrogation techniques. He can handle it._

-

In early March, two weeks before the governor issues a shelter-in-place due to the COVID-19 pandemic, Bruce finalises a complete decontamination procedure for the Batcave. Alfred is above 65 years of age and Tim is immunocompromised, increasing their risk for the severity of symptoms, and that’s something Bruce takes very seriously. Part of the worry comes from the fact that Tim doesn’t live in the manor anymore, which limits the number of precautions that Bruce can take on Tim’s behalf. 

With Babs being to back to Batgirl these days, it’s the perfect opportunity to ground Red Robin and place him in charge of the comms, which is precisely what Bruce does. Tim’s dangerous enough in a fistfight; he’s small and has learned to use that underestimation of him as a weapon, but he’s lethal online. Their number of closed cases skyrocket quickly with Tim keeping track of them all at once. Besides, Wayne Enterprises is undergoing significant changes to cope with the pandemic, and Tim, being the current CEO, is spearheading the charge. If there’s anyone who has more important things on his plate that vigilante business, it’s Tim right now. Bruce makes sure that Jason is present and listening when he gives Tim the order, and that makes it far easier to implement. If it weren’t for Jason, Bruce thinks he would have given up any attempt at civility and simply forced Tim home to the manor, where he could at least get a morning coffee partner in Bruce, movie nights with Duke, and affectionate kicks from Damian. (At least, Bruce is pretty sure those are affectionate. With enough time, Bruce is confident he can convince Damian to turn them into hugs or at the very least, pats, instead).

Therefore, Bruce doesn’t bother singling out Tim when the government shuts down the state two weeks later. At six pm, he sends out a general e-mail to the Family regarding the situation and a reminder of the protocols for visiting the manor. Bruce doesn’t hear back from anyone except Cass, who is stuck in China and using the opportunity to investigate whether the virus is evolution or villainy at work. Then he gets an automated message from Jason saying that he’s actually in space with the Outlaws and won’t be back for a week at least.

Bruce thinks back, and the last he’d heard from Tim had been over the comms the night before. But with Tim, that would still leave the possibility of him basically being anywhere on the Eastern seaboard, no matter where his IP address originated from. And with Jason having been away for a few days, Bruce recalculates the chances of Tim having flown the coop and realises it’s above 0%, which is unacceptable.

Bruce calls Tim.

The phone doesn’t ring or give him a busy line signal. It goes directly to voicemail. Bruce calls the office line, but it rings until it’s rerouted to the cell and goes right back to voicemail. “Tim, please call me back immediately.”

He’s supposed to be doing home office, and Tim’s campus had been shut down two days ago due to multiple researchers testing positive for the virus. Even if online courses were up and running, Bruce knows that Tim doesn’t have lectures on Friday afternoons. He should be working. But a quick glance at the Wayne Teams workplace platform shows that he isn’t online and hasn’t been for six hours.

Bruce tries to track him down using security cameras but can’t find him anywhere in the city, and he finds that his bugs in the Red Robin Nest have been disabled. He curses and praises Tim’s paranoia silently as he calls Dick and asks him to check out the Nest.

He spends the thirty minutes it takes Dick to make it to the Red Robin Nest trying to hack loudly into Tim’s systems. He’s wildly unsuccessful, but hopefully it’ll set off some alarms that will get to Tim. When Dick calls to let him know there’s no one there, he forces himself to not become irrationally worried. This is Tim. He’s probably in his workshop at Wayne Enterprises, or with the Titans, or somewhere else perfectly reasonable. But Lucius tells him Tim hasn’t been replying to e-mails all day, so he’s not working and he’s not in class. If he’s following a lead on a case in the field when he’s grounded, Bruce isn’t just going to ground him completely. He’s going to lock him inside the manor and keep him there until someone develops a vaccine for COVID-19.

It doesn’t matter if Tim says that he can take care of himself. This is Tim, this is _his son._

His boy who is missing a spleen and therefore immunocompromised. This is Tim, who is perfectly aware that his mind and body require safety, nourishment and rest, but will intentionally put that at the bottom of his priority list if it stands in the way of the Mission.

Bruce knows that he has no one to blame for that tendency but himself.

He’s haphazardly throwing on his overcoat with the intention of going to Wayne Enterprises HQ just in case Tim’s holed up in one of the underground labs with minimal access when he sees Damian walk down the stairs to the Batcave. “Father, Grayson tells me that Drake is missing.”

“Dami. I really—”

“—Father, please inform Superman that we require his assistance immediately.” Damian makes a beeline for Batcow and presses his forehead against her face for a moment, arms wrapped around her head.

“Excuse me?”

“Call Superman. Or better yet, I can call Jon. I suppose we could even lower the bar and call the Clone, as he is friends with Drake.”

Bruce looks at Damian, hiding his shaking fingers under Batcow’s fur, and realises that he’s right. They don’t have the time to do a proper search for Tim right now, every breath he breathes has the potential to infect him.

He walks over to Damian and places a comforting hand on his head. “Okay, Damian. I’ll call Clark. We’ll find him.”

-

When Clark arrives with a scowling Tim, Damian runs forward and greets his elder brother with a sharp kick to the knee. Tim groans but doesn’t fight back. He must be at least on day three of sleep-deprived work.

“You caused Father undue worry and you’d simply been hiding in a caffeine-fueled state in the campus basement? You bring dishonour to the Family!” Damian shouts. He turns to face Superman. “Your assistance is no longer required. Vacate the city limits at once.” And with that, he stomps up the stairs and back into the manor proper.

Clark simply shakes his head with a smile. He knows his son’s best friend well enough. “I do need to get back to Metropolis. Y’all take care and stay healthy.” He pats Tim’s shoulder and flies back out.

Bruce crosses his arms. “Decon, now.”

Tim nods, drops his backpack and slinks off to the showers. Bruce puts on a pair of gloves, grabs alcohol wipes, and disinfects the bag and its contents, just to be safe. Even if they’re clean, he’s not even sure when Tim last cleaned his laptop. Bruce sighs and heads for the coffee machine, adjusting the settings to make a strong brew. Fifteen minutes later, Tim walks out of decontamination with long, damp hair—he needs a haircut—wearing a purple pair of leggings (Steph’s) and a too-long button-up shirt (Bruce’s). Bruce takes the cup of coffee and walks over to bring it to Tim, who eyes it suspiciously.

He takes it and has one sip of it before pressing the mug back into Bruce’s palms. “I don’t care how amazing this coffee is Bruce, you’re not convincing me to stay here. I’ll be better. I was just running behind on a project. I can take care of myself.”

Bruce _knows_ that. Because he’d been gone, and Tim had had to take care of himself. And he’d come back, but Tim wasn’t Robin anymore, he wasn’t even living at home anymore. Sometimes Bruce thinks this is some sort of divine retribution. He’d torn Robin out of Dick’s hands without any remorse all those years ago, and the universe decided to rip two Robins out of his before he was ready to let them out of the nest. Maybe Tim doesn’t need Bruce to take care of him, but right now, Bruce needs to take care of Tim. He takes a small breath, trying to school his face before he begins his rebuttal.

“I know you can, Tim. But I need you here. I don’t want you alone in that apartment for weeks or months on end when you could be here, with your family.”

“I’m used to being alone in the penthouse,” Tim says, and Bruce marvels at how well Tim can lie to him when he wants to.

“Have you considered that maybe I’m not used to you not being here anymore?” Bruce replies. “I’m not asking you to let me coddle you, just that you work from here instead. We can both work from home, and you won’t have to worry about going out to get groceries or refilling your antibiotic prescription. The backup supplies are here, as is Alfred. And we get groceries delivered, so no one has to leave the house. You’ve been running comms already, you can do that just as well from the Cave.”

Tim stops moving for a moment, and Bruce can practically see the gears turning in that magnificent brain of his. After a moment, his eyes move towards his coffee. Bruce holds it out again, and Tim snatches it to down the rest in one go. He then presses the empty mug back into Bruce’s hands and crosses his arms over his chest. “Okay, fine. Just for now. But I need to get some things from the Nest. I have my laptop, but I have some other tech in the Nest that I need.”

Bruce swallows his sigh of relief and instead smiles at Tim, reaching for the edge of his shirt. “And maybe some clothes.”

Tim looks at him, unrepentant. “Sure. Clothes.”

“Not that I mind you taking my shirts, but at some point, we’ll run out,” Bruce says. His children have an annoying but rather endearing propensity for confiscating his four thousand dollar shirts and converting them into pyjamas. “If you give me a list, I can go pick it up tonight if you want, before patrol.”

“Uhh, that’s okay! I can do it myself—” Tim is quickly turning a shade of red Bruce typically associates with Tim’s armour, not his face. “—I mean, it’s super out of the way, I really can do it myself.”

“You’re not going through the city, Tim.”

“What if you drop me off and I’ll get everything I need? And you can drive me back.”

“I can agree to those terms.” Things are progressing far better than Bruce had imagined they would have, and he’s thankful for it.

The next day, decked out in a rebreather, goggles and gloves, Bruce and Tim drive into the garage of the Nest in downtown Gotham. “Alright, why don’t you wait here and I’ll meet you in a couple of minutes.”

“Tim, I’m not just going to wait down here.”

“I’ll be quick.”

“You’re not going to scare me. I’ve seen the state of your bedroom in the manor before,” Bruce says, and opens his car door, leaving no room for question. He walks up to the door and waits for Tim to open it, even though he has his spare key card on him. Tim sighs, loud enough that he can hear him through the door of the Tesla, and gets out.

The Red Robin Nest is immaculate. No piece of tech out of place, not a single case file in disorder. Tim has multiple balls of coloured yarn in a small basket near a chalk wall with recent casework exhibiting Jason’s handwriting in yellow chalk.

“Can you take pictures of the walls? And digitise those case files and sync them to the shared server?” Tim asks. “The password for the secure VPN is the same as the one in the Batcave. I’ll get some clothes and stuff from upstairs and meet you down here.” And with that, Tim bounds up the stairs.

Tim is so meticulous that Bruce’s work takes mere minutes. The only mess in the Nest comes from the many empty but stained coffee mugs on Tim’s desk. He collects them and leaves them in the sink to soak as he double-checks that all the testing machinery has adequately been shut down, and then washes the mugs. Tim is nowhere to be found, so Bruce decides to go up.

The apartment isn’t perfectly tidy, but it’s well-tended for. There are empty take-out boxes on the coffee table alongside an earmarked copy of Jane Eyre. A Roomba with the words Mr Fantastic written on it in bright red Sharpie is sitting idly in the corner. A half-completed quilt covers the floor in front of the television. There are plants. _Living_ plants, with automated water delivery, across every windowsill and empty space in the open dining/living/kitchen space. It takes him a few seconds to figure out how they work, and he fills up the water. They’ll be okay for a few weeks, probably. Then Bruce makes his way to the kitchen and takes out the half-filled trash bag, putting the take-out boxes in it.

He takes the bag with him towards the sounds of Tim in the bedroom. Finally, he finds the much-expected mess. There are clothes on the floor, a hopefully empty pizza box sticking out from under the bed, and a basket of clothes that are either clean or dirty but definitely wrinkled beyond saving. Some of those clothes aren’t Tim’s, but Bruce selectively ignores that, along with the half-empty bottle of lubricant peeking out from the messy bed's covers.

“Hey Tim,” Bruce says, and Tim startles and turns around.

“Bruce?”

“I finished up downstairs, figured I’d come to help you. I’m just collecting trash. Do you have a bin in here?”

“In the bathroom,” Tim says with a nod, shoving what is clearly one of Jason’s favourite profanity-ridden t-shirts into the duffle bag. Then he freezes, and runs into the bathroom while calling out, “Wait, no, I’ll get it!”

Bruce shrugs and pulls out the pizza box, and only to find an open condom wrapper laying carelessly on top of it. And that’s when Bruce regrets leaving his car. He picks up the pizza box by one edge and dumps it, wrapper and all, into the black bag. Tim walks out of the bathroom, with a tightly secured little bag that he drops into the larger bag. He’s not looking at Bruce, which is good because Bruce is also having a hard time looking his son in the eye right now.

“What do I do with the garbage now? Do you have maintenance come and get it?” Bruce asks.

Tim brightens. “No, there’s a chute! So I don’t share one because it’s for the penthouse, so no one else is in that hall, but apparently in apartment buildings, like in Dick’s, everyone on the floor shares one. All the garbage slides into the same dumpster. I wish I’d known about them when I was younger, they’d have been useful as an exit strategy, I’m sure.” He zips up his duffle bag and throws it over his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Bruce bites back a laugh because this is precisely how he had reacted when he’d visited Dick in Blüdhaven a few years ago and learned about how “the plebeians live” — Dick’s words, not his.

As they head out, he steadfastly ignores the familiar leather jacket draped over the accent chair in the bedroom that he knows isn’t Tim’s. He already knows too much. They’ll tell him eventually. Or never. Never works just fine for him.


	3. Tim and Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tim and Bruce share a father-son moment.

Convincing your (adoptive) dad that you’re a grown-up and can self-isolate in your own apartment when he has to call Superman to find you during a total shutdown of the city is in general not easy. The fact that said dad is also Batman means that at the end of the day, you’re going to find yourself sulking because your prized possessions, such as your work laptop, are stuck in your apartment. Bruce had promised to drive him over tomorrow, but his temporary consolation trophy is Bruce’s work laptop. This is why when Alfred finds him, a few hours after he’s been told to _stay put, dammit,_ he’s curled up in Bruce’s office chair, working furiously through his work mailbox, while talking to R&D about upgrading the Wayne Teams software for better home office options. Alfred brings him a cup of coffee, black, and a plate of sliced pears. Tim’s stomach grumbles. Alfred smiles. “I’ll expect you down at seven sharp for dinner, Master Timothy,” he says and leaves the office.

-

On Day 1 of the lockdown, Tim crawls out of bed at 5 am and grabs his ringing phone to answer a worried call from Conner checking in. Apparently, Martha made him sit through an awkward dinner with Clark. And it turns out that Superman is a blabbermouth. Once he’s convinced Conner not to fly over and piss off Bruce, he spends about 3 seconds looking for socks, gives up and gingerly steps on the wooden floors with bare feet. The draughty old manor is cold, and his bed is warm, but his need for coffee trumps his needs for warmth, so Tim stumbles his way to the kitchen. He finds Alfred pouring creamy coffee into a large mug and handing it over.

Alfred doesn’t ask questions. Alfred understands.

Tim pours a dollop of cream into the coffee to cool it slightly before chugging the whole thing and holding out the mug to Alfred, who nonchalantly pours him a second one. This time, Tim adds no milk, taking his coffee up the stairs after thanking Alfred. He makes his way to Bruce’s office and grabs the laptop before setting himself up on Bruce’s plush couch. He opens up his e-mail and decides to spend the morning doing coursework. At some point, before Damian finishes college and comes after Tim’s job, he’d like to at least have something more than a GED.

Tim finds a bunch of very confused messages from multiple professors in his university inbox. One from the dean promises that a system will be up and running by next week, and tells GU students to relax for now. He sees the e-mail from Babs which announced the postponement of the programming project. He’s taking two other online classes this semester: a climate change journal club and an introduction to British literature class that he needs for general education credits. He’d signed up to the second one only because Jason had promised to help, but Jason’s off-planet for at least another week, the jerk. He’s got an essay due in two weeks that he’s not touching for now. That leaves him with the least amount of work this semester that he’s ever had. Perfect, if he can rush through this coursework, he can spend the rest of the day on company business. Two things on the list now: three chapters of Jane Eyre or the _Science Advances_ paper in machine learning – he pulls up the paper and takes a sip of the coffee as he reads through the abstract.

He’s knee-deep in methods when he reaches absentmindedly for his mug and nearly spits out the horrid concoction of what is decidedly _tea,_ not the life-giving elixir that is his joy in all things called coffee. He looks at the mug and then glances up to find Bruce sitting next to him on the sofa, eyebrow raised and the tablet in his lap open to the daily news. “Maybe we need to work some more on your situational awareness,” he says, trading Tim his coffee mug for Bruce’s tea. Tim would be mortified and annoyed at himself, but Bruce doesn’t sound disappointed, he seems fond. It’s a tone of voice that Bruce tends to save for Dick, so Tim lets himself enjoy the moment.

“It’s just because we’re in your office,” Tim nevertheless mumbles as he turns around to sit with his back to the armrest, sticking his bare feet under Bruce’s thigh. “Nothing to worry about.”

Bruce smiles at him gently. “What’s the plan for today?”

“Coursework, then WE, then checking trends in cybercrimes with Babs later,” Tim replies. The streets may be empty, but there’s been more activity on the dark web that needs follow-up. “Can we leave around noon to get things from my apartment?”

“How about right after lunch?” Bruce asks.

“That’s perfect."

“Anything I can take care of?”

“No, I’m fine,” Tim replies, highlighting a chunk of the paragraph he’s reading.

Bruce pauses. “Are you sure? I can take point at WE if you need to focus on school, Tim.”

“I said I can handle it.” Tim looks up from the laptop, pulling his toes away from Bruce. He may have been an abysmal Robin, but he’s an excellent CEO, and he can handle the company better than anyone, except Lucius. And he’s tired of being undermined when Bruce hadn’t even been bothered in the last few months to visit the company funding his entire mission.

But he knows it’s come out harsher than necessary when he sees a fraction of a frown on Bruce’s face, which disappears right away. Bruce wraps his hand around one of Tim’s calves and squeezes reassuringly. “I know you can. I—” There’s a beat of silence. He opens his mouth and closes it again. God, he can be so awkward when he wants to be. “I know you’re capable. But I still worry about you.”

Tim bristles. “I’m not a kid, I don’t need you to worry about me—”

“—I worry about Dick and he’s eight years older than you. I worry about all of you. You’re not a little kid anymore, but you’re still _my_ ki-” Bruce stutters to a stop, as if suddenly remembering that he isn’t, not really, and falls silent. Since Tim became emancipated, technically Bruce isn’t his dad anymore. Except in all the ways that Tim knows that he is.

Tim bites back an exasperated sigh and sticks his toes back under Bruce’s warm thigh. “See if we can convert some of our non-medical plants to produce more disinfectant, medical masks, and other PPE – Dick said Gotham Children’s had a break-in, the city’s going to run out, and the rest of Jersey will probably need it too.” WE already produces medical equipment, but they need to accelerate production. “If you can take point on the factory conversions, I can look into faster PPE fabrication.”

“I’ll call the board and get things moving, then,” Bruce says after a moment. He leaves his hand curled around Tim’s calf as they fall back into comfortable silence.


	4. Damian and the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Damian gets an important task from a Dick who isn't allowed to enter the manor because of his job.

It’s Thursday morning, nearly a week into the lockdown, when Grayson informs Father by telephone that he will not be attending the weekly dinner tomorrow, or visiting the manor in the near, foreseeable future. Father notifies him and Drake of this development during breakfast. Grayson will be responsible for tightened security at the Bl _ü_ dhaven General Hospital, as there have been multiple thefts of medical equipment in the last week. However, as this exposes him to the virus, he can no longer come to the manor.

“See, it would be easier if I’d stayed at the penthouse, I can care of myself,” Drake points out right before he downs his fourth cup of coffee – negating the very point he’s trying to make — and Damian hates him, hates him, _hates him_. He stomps off, frustrated at Drake’s ineptness, and everyone else’s coddling of him, and the situation in general which offers Damian little in the way of control.

He makes his way to his bedroom and turns on his laptop with the hope that his overpaid private school teachers have finally apprised him as to how his studies will continue. Unsurprisingly, he is left disappointed by everyone but his mathematics teacher who has uploaded the problem set and lecture notes for the week. He completes the problem set within the hour and submits his results online. He is considering practising his violin when his phone vibrates in his pocket. At the sight of the caller ID, he considers ignoring it, but he’s weak when it comes to Grayson, so he picks up.

“Shouldn’t you be playing guard dog at the hospital?” Damian spits out the moment the call connects. He leaves his room, too agitated to sit, and wanders the long hallways of the manor.

“Hey little D, yeah I’m just getting ready to head out. You’re on speaker so tell me if you can’t hear me okay?”

“So not only are you wasting my time but also your own.”

“Dami, I know you’re upset—”

“That is ludicrous. Why would I be upset? I’m simply offended. You are Richard Grayson. There must surely be better uses of both your time and resources than guarding storage rooms,” Damian says as he walks into the less-used east wing, where the hallways are filled with oil portraits of his ancestors – strangers who wear his father’s nose. He ignores them and heads back to the south wing, intending to return to his bedroom.

“I’m sorry that all of us have so little control over this, Dami. But I need to do my job so medical staff can do theirs, and exposing Alfie and Tim is a risk I won’t take. Which is why I need your help.”

“No,” he replies, taking the stairs two by two. The walls here show more recent photographs: Todd in his high school production of _Much Ado About Nothing_ , a picnic with Grayson and Gordon, Drake and Father in an embrace, adoption papers wrinkling in Father’s hands.

“Can’t you wait until I tell you what it is, little D?” Grayson asks but doesn’t wait for him to answer before continuing. “Tim needs to sleep and takes his meds on time. As for Alfred – make sure he’s not overworking himself. You know what Bruce is like. Can you do that for me?”

He turns the corner and pushes the bedroom door open, only to realise that he has inadvertently walked into Grayson’s quarters. The bed is unmade, and the shutters are closed. Damian kicks his shoes off and climbs into bed, carefully arranging himself in lotus position under bedsheets that smell like Grayson’s aftershave and facing the bookshelves built into the wall above the headboard.

There are more photographs, most of them are of a Grayson that existed because he had met Damian. There is a group photo of the original Teen Titans in civilian clothing, a family photograph with his parents. Unframed, but set against a set of books is a Polaroid of Damian’s last birthday dinner. Damian is scowling as he blows out his birthday candles, his father to his right and Drake to his left, a soft smile on his face. A real one, not one of the sickeningly charming ones he graces the media with. Damian traces the smile with his index finger. He hadn’t realised that Drake had ever granted him one of these smiles.

“Damian?” Grayson says his name as if he’s been repeating it a few times. Damian thinks about Drake in that photograph the day he’d been adopted, looking pathetic and defenceless against the bulk of Father’s frame, of Alfred and his wrinkled hands.

“Fine.”

"Thank you,” Grayson says softly. “I’ll call you, okay? We can try to do family video chats, okay?”

“Tt.”

“I need you to be my hands and feet, Dami,” Grayson tells him. “I love you.”

“Understood. Now, stop wasting your time and make your way to work before you are tardy again.” He ends the call.

He takes the photograph with him as he leaves the bedroom. Grayson won’t be here for a while. It isn’t as if he would miss it.

-

Father and Drake are nowhere to be seen. He rechecks his e-mail but there is still no news from his teachers. Alfred and Titus are snoozing together, and he does not wish to disturb them. Pennyworth is plating fruits. “Would you to help me take this up to Master Bruce’s office, please?” He asks.

“Tt.” Damian takes the tray, balancing a full French press and some sliced fruit with ease. Perhaps he can offer Father some assistance, he thinks, as he walks up the main stairs into the wing, home of the library and the master office.

“…we’ll, of course, continue to pay salaries.” Damian catches the tail end of the sentence as he pushes the door open with his elbow and walks in. Drake is working away on the couch, unaware or unbothered that Damian has entered the room. Father looks up from his place at the desk and gifts Damian a minuscule smile. He touches his chin with a flattened palm and moves it forward in thanks. Damian turns to set the tray on the coffee table, finally forced to face Drake.

Drake is working away in Father’s office as if it’s his birthright and not Damian’s. Drake still has not realised that Damian has entered the room, showcasing his inferior skills once again, while Father looks at him with a fondness that is ill-deserved. Drake has large noise-cancelling headphones in as he types away on the couch, feet resting on the coffee table, bare and cracked, and definitely cold. He’s wearing a threadbare t-shirt that if Damian remembers correctly may belong either to Todd or Grayson; he’s seen both of them wearing it at one point.

Sometimes, Damian wonders how his grandfather finds this fool to be his most ideal successor. He would slam the tray onto the table, but it’s an antique china set that belonged to his paternal great-grandparents. It would disappoint Father, so he instead sets it down with a huff and stomps out of the room. As he opens the door, Drake’s voice stops him.

“Dami.” He turns around and finds himself the recipient of a small smile. “Thank you.”

Dami nods shakily, infuriated at how much this harmless action disarms him. He stomps back down to the kitchen, passing by Drake’s bedroom.

Then he pauses. And huffs. Drake has been residing in his bedroom for less than a week, yet it has somehow become a pigsty. At first sight, Damian notices four separate coffee mugs, a pile of clothing (dirty, as Pennyworth would have put his clothes away neatly) that for the most part belongs to numerous past and present occupants of the manor. Himself included, Damian realises, as he tugs at a familiar shade of green and his no-longer-missing alpaca shawl is revealed. He touches the soft material, then shoves it back under the other clothing. Instead, he collects the mugs and makes his way back down to the kitchen. When he arrives back in the kitchen, he finds Pennyworth pulling the vacuum cleaner out of the broom closet.

“Ah, thank you, Master Damian, I was about to begin with Master Timothy’s room,” Pennyworth says. “Why don’t you leave those in the sink and I’ll tend to them in a moment.”

“You can’t vacuum that room when you can’t see the floor for the litter. Additionally, please organise for the transport of Drake’s personal items, if only to prevent his pilfering of other people’s personal effects,” he replies. Pennyworth shouldn’t exert himself, and Grayson has made it Damian’s job to make sure he doesn’t. “I shall tend to his filthy quarters.”

“Absolutely not, Master Damian. Besides, Master Bruce and Master Tim collected his personal items days ago. Why don’t you tend to Batcow instead?”

“I have already tended to all my chores before breakfast and wish to train with Father later today. Furthermore, I promised Grayson that I would look after your and Drake’s well-being.” Damian holds out a hand. “The vacuum cleaner, please.”

“Master Dick...” Pennyworth says with a soft smile, then straightens his spine. “Indeed, that is kind of both of you, but I assure you that I am perfectly capable of completing my daily duties. I won’t be hearing any more of it.”

Damian sighs. He wonders if his father learned stubbornness from Pennyworth or if it is genetic. He hopes for the latter; it may give him a fighting chance at countering Pennyworth. “Keepings our quarters tidy is part of our chores, not your duties. Excepting Father’s room, you are only required to clean the room of guests.”

Pennyworth shakes his head. “You are correct, Young Master. However, your brother has many responsibilities that require his time more than keeping his room in order. I’ll be tidying his bedroom, as is my duty, and you will not be stopping me.”

“I suppose you’re right, this is no longer Drake’s home, and this chore falls to you again And you will not be stopping me from reminding him of his clear status as a guest in this house,” Damian rebuts, still holding out his hand. It’s not a bluff, and Damian has said worse things to Drake. He hasn’t in quite some time, but that can be easily corrected.

“In the interest of saving at least some of the antique family furniture from the consequences of your bouts, how about a compromise? We could tidy his room together.”

Damian takes a moment to think this through. It would not be demeaning as considering this work to be such disrespects Pennyworth. And if he works fast enough, he can achieve the bulk of the work himself, and Pennyworth will never be the wiser. “That is acceptable, but I will carry the vacuum cleaner upstairs.”

Pennyworth shakes his head and acquiesces to his request. 

They open the windows to air the room out, throwing the duvet over the edge for the same reason. Then Alfred collects the clothing into a laundry basket. At the same time, Damian goes through the collection of bits and bobs on the floor that seem to be the upended contents of Drake’s backpack. There are multiple paper bags with cookie crumbs on the inside — the receipt shows that this is likely Drake’s morning breakfast run — along with a triple, no, quadruple espresso. The self-damaging buffoon. Damian disposes of them, along with three broken pens, an empty packet of gum as well as a ten-pack of condoms with only two remaining, both of which are expired. Damian faces the ceiling, breathes slowly, in and out, before finding one of the broken pens and skewering the condoms on them before setting them on the desk that Drake has abandoned for Father’s office. He grabs a working pen and the GU writing pad to write an appropriately scathing note beside them.

_Drake,_

_Evidently, you require a refresher on safe sex practices. I shall inform Father to prepare his PowerPoint presentation again. Sitting through that exercise in mortification will be worth it if that is what it takes to prevent your entry into accidental fatherhood._

_Damian Al Ghul Wayne_

Pennyworth must notice but says nothing as he pulls out some clothes that look too small for Drake. “I should have taken these to the goodwill sometime. Master Tim outgrew these last year. I’ll just go get a box,” he says, setting them over the freshly made chair.

Damian hums as he returns to the pile. He grabs a disinfectant wipe and swishes it over the outside of Drake’s wallet, then remembers that it would be prudent to wipe down the cards as well. But as he opens it, he freezes. There are two photos inside. One is an official family photo from a few years ago. Father sits on the blue sofa in the library, Grayson to his right, and Drake to his left, Father’s arm around both of them as Pennyworth stands to their right. The second one is more recent, another one of Grayson’s Polaroids, a selfie from last Christmas. It had apparently been too large for the wallet, as the part containing Drake is missing. He wipes down the cards swiftly and puts them away. He shoves the wallet, along with the extra phone charger, inside the backpack, then places it under the desk and rushes to vacuum the room. The dust is making his eyes water.

-

When Alfred returns, the room is spotless. And if he notices that one of the pyjama sets that Drake has outgrown is missing, he doesn’t mention it. Neither does Grayson when he video calls in the evening. He simply raises an eyebrow at the gingham and continues in his reading of _The One and Only Ivan_ until Damian succumbs to sleep.


	5. Jason and the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jason comes home.

After a gruelling nine days in space, Bizarro drops him off on the roof of the Red Robin Nest. He would invite him in for a drink, Tim’s rather fond of Biz these days, but right now all he wants to do is stuff himself full of potstickers and press his boyfriend into their bed to sleep for at least ten hours straight. It’s a little past midnight, but this is Gotham City, home of light pollution and Killer Croc. He uses that light to climb down to the terrace door and get inside. The penthouse is empty. He checks the bedroom, where the bed is actually made for a change and the closet is nearly bare of Tim’s clothing. The top shelf where Tim’s go-bag usually sits is also empty. Jason plugs in his dead phone to charge on the bedside table and heads for the kitchen.

There isn’t a note on the smart fridge or any food in it, though the latter is no surprise. Jason preheats the oven and then opens the freezer. He looks at his meticulous labelled frozen meals and pulls one of the oldest ones out: a chicken pot pie that he learned to make with Alfred when he was probably thirteen years old. He grabs a cold pack as well before shutting the freezer door. He leaves the pie on the kitchen island but wraps a towel around the cold pack. Jason presses it against his shoulder as he walks back into the bedroom and tries to turn on the phone. He ignores the blinking red circles on the otherwise black screen telling him that it’s _dying,_ and boots it up properly. He ignores the e-mails and texts.

Instead, he calls Tim. 

The phone rings only once before it’s picked up, “What do you want, Todd?”

“Hey Timbo, what’s up?”

“Has space addled your brain? It is clearly I, Damian Wayne.”

“Oh, really? See I _know_ I called the Replacement’s number so why would you be picking up his phone?”

“Why shouldn’t I be picking up his phone, he is in _my_ house.” Jason hears the clatter of a phone being dropped onto 200-year-old granite tiles, and then, muffled, “Drake – HEY! You are meant to be sleeping!”

A couple of distant shouts and a slammed door later, Jason finally hears Tim’s voice. “Hey Jay. Welcome back.”

“Hey babe,” Jason says, pulling the charging cable along as he lays down on the bed, shoulder stinging with the movement. The pillow smells like Tim’s shampoo. “You okay?”

“Ready to commit fratricide but otherwise okay. You?”

For a moment, Jason considers lying. He was taught by Batman, he could potentially pull it off. The problem is, so was Tim, and Dick might be the golden boy, but Tim’s the best detective this world’s seen since the Bat himself, and he’d find out. He always finds out, and then there’d be hell to pay. “Bruised a collar bone.”

“Are you sure it’s just bruised? You said that last time and you had three broken ribs—”

“Biz checked, they’re not broken, promise,” Jay says. “So you’re at the manor?”

“Yep. Hold on – I gotta find a better hiding spot before that gremlin finds me again.”

“The fuck are you two up to?” Jason asks. The oven beeps in the kitchen. Jason takes a look at the phone – 10%. It’ll do for now. He unplugs it and eases himself out of bed. He returns to the kitchen, taking the glass lid off of the pie form and placing it in the oven.

“It’s Dick’s fault,” Tim whispers ferociously, as if that explains everything. “Goddamned north wing, aren’t there any good hiding spots here?”

“Try the console table under Great Aunt Sybil’s portrait, it’s always been empty, and you’ll probably still fit in there,” Jason suggests.

“Okay thanks, gotta go. Oh, and check your texts. And bring me my glasses, I ran out of contacts, and the demon broke my old pair. Love you.” And then the line clicks before Jason can return the sentiment.

“Can you believe this motherfucker?” Jason asks himself out loud.

His phone buzzes, warning him that he’s at 8% battery, and he groans and strides back into the bedroom to pull out the charger from the wall before returning to the living room. He eases himself onto the blue sectional before opening up the wooden panels on its arm and plugging the charger into the outlet. As he waits for the pie to bake, he opens up his messages and finally gets some answers as Tim’s texts from the last week arrive.

_b thinks i’m going to waste away by myself in the penthouse so now I’m stuck in the manor – probably til he invents a universal vaccine for evrythng._

_hurry up and come stay w/ me in the manor_

_also on an unrelated note, dick’s banned from the house for the next 14 days_

_bet he’d loooooove to spend quality time w/ his little wing who’s all alone in his safehouse and needs human interaction_

\--

_demon broke my fucking glasses i am livid urrrrrrrrrrrgh_

_bring my spare when u come over_

_\--_

_i miss u hope ur safe_

_u’re*_

_\--_

_fuck space come hoooooooooooooome_

_dicks calling me twice as much cuz he cant bug u_

The last message is from today morning. When Jason had left, Tim had already been working from home. Still, apparently, Baby Bird had flown the coop the first chance he’d got and subsequently gotten himself locked up in the manor like a damsel in distress. Jason looks around the penthouse that is slowly transforming itself from Tim’s place to Jason and Tim’s place. Without his boyfriend, it loses all its appeal. Jason used to live in a bunker under One Police Plaza, he doesn’t need a fancy fridge that tells him when his milk’s about to expire. Jason only needs Tim. Which is why he’s actually seriously considering the notion of staying at the manor for the unforeseeable future.

Jason has visited the manor multiple times this last year, though usually just for dinner or post-patrol reporting. He’s not sure he can take being quarantined with Bruce, who has a way of choosing exactly the right words to blow Jason’s hair-trigger fuse. He’s developed better control over the Pit Rage, but it’s ever-present, and seeing Bruce is sometimes all that’s needed to set it off.

Bruce isn’t always doing this on purpose, either. He’s awkward and cold, and he doesn’t know what to do with his own emotions, let alone Jason’s. That’s not a surprise, but Jason’s only just learning to forgive that. Still, things have been getting better, especially since he’s starting seeing Tim.

And Tim needs him too. Because if he’s stuck in that house with Damian and Bruce for company, his workaholic competitiveness will go into high gear. It’s the only way Tim knows to account for Damian’s unveiled insults and Bruce’s near-complete lack of acknowledgement.

His phone vibrates as the text thread updates itself.

_also bring lube pls i need u to fuck me like zuko needs to find his honour_

Jason looks up at the ceiling in exasperation. Timmy plays dirty.

_Oh stop with the theatrics, I’ll be there in the morning. Go the fuck to sleep._

Tim doesn’t reply to that, so Jason can rest assured that he is definitely _not_ going to sleep. Yep, it’s high time for the prodigal son to go home.

-

At 5 am, Jason enters the manor gingerly and immediately regrets coming here. His old bedroom is a creepy shrine to his teenaged self, so he can’t crash there. Ideally, he’d be pressing up against Tim in his bedroom, but it shares a hallway with both the master bedroom and Damian’s room in the well-lived-in south wing. The last thing he wants is to come home and out himself and Tim to the least reassuring two members of his family. 

He takes about three steps away from the grandfather clock that hides the entrance to the Batcave and freezes after turning the corner. Bruce stands at the other end of the hallway, dressed in a deep blue robe, hair hilariously ruffled. “Did you go through the decontamination procedure?” Bruce asks, his voice rough with sleep.

“Hey Jason, welcome home, how was space? Hey Bruce, space was great, I met an actual Dalek,” Jason retorts, though he regrets it immediately. Something about Bruce always makes him aggressive and on edge.

Bruce huffs. “Well, did you?”

“Obviously. What do you want?”

“I received an alert that someone had entered the Cave.”

“Wow, I’m honoured, am I just off the okay list or on the active villain list these days?” Jason spits out.

Bruce rolls his eyes. “You need to read the Batcave updates. I’m getting alerts for everyone, okayed by the system or otherwise.”

Jason looks away, feeling embarrassed. “Okay, whatever.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I’d stay in my room, but I wouldn’t want to fuck with your mausoleum, so probably not…” Jason muses, thankful for the opportunity to throw the embarrassment back at Bruce.

“The bedroom beside Tim’s room used to be used for visits by Bart and Conner, so it was recently renovated. You’ll have to share a bathroom with him, but at least you won’t be staring at great-grandfather Jesaja’s face first thing in the morning.”

Jason is speechless. As far as Bruce knows, Jason and Tim are striking up a friendship. But Jason hasn’t forgotten the times that he had broken into the Cave only to find Bruce standing up to protect Tim with his body. It would seem that Bruce trusts him enough to let him stay so close to Tim. He forces his mouth shut before he says something that gets him moved to a different room, or worse, kicked out, and walks away.

-

Jason drops his things off in the guest room, then walks through the bathroom. When he carefully opens the door to Tim’s bedroom, it’s to find his boyfriend in bed with another man.

Well, another boy, to be more accurate.

Damian is breathing in and out on top of him, his head lolling over the edge of Tim’s left shoulder and his arms holding both Tim’s wrists in place, albeit rather loosely now that he’s asleep. Tim wakes up right away and stares at him blearily, sprawled in the centre of the bed.

Jason can’t stop the wide smile from breaking out on his face.

“I didn’t fit,” Tim says morosely.

Jason bites his cheek to keep his laughter in, but he mustn’t have done a good enough job because Tim hisses, “Do _not_ wake him up.”

“Okay, okay,” Jason sits down carefully so as not to jostle Damian, and looks at Tim, just looks at him. His hair is long again, he could put it up in a ponytail if he wanted to. Right now, it lies in a soft halo on the pillow. There are bags under his eyes and the beginning of angry pimple above the arch of his left eyebrow. Tim looks a shade paler than when Jason left him, as if he's been missing the sun. Jesus, did no one walk him in the last two weeks? “Have you been taking your antibiotics?”

“Do you think this little demon would have let me go to bed before I did?”

“Nope. But I know you can avoid him, or beat him if necessary,” Jason replies. Though their violent rivalry has mellowed somewhat over the years, Tim usually isn’t afraid of dishing out as much as he gets. “Why are you coddling him?”

Tim looks away from Jason to glance at the top of Damian’s head. “He made Bruce call Clark to come and get me.”

“Aww, the brat was worried about you.”

“Annoyingly so,” Tim retorts, but he can’t hide his affection when he looks down at Damian. Jason reaches for Damian’s hands, gently pulling them out of the loose grip they’ve had on Tim’s wrists. “Wait, what are you doing?”

“Putting him to bed.”

“You’ll wake him up!”

“No, but you will if you don’t stop yelling at me.” Jason leans down to sneaks his arm in-between Tim and Damian and pulls him away, and then turns Damian until his nose is pressed up against Jason’s right shoulder. Damian automatically wraps his legs around Jason’s waist and digs his fingers into the meat of Jason’s biceps. Still, he continues sleeping, looking more adorable than a tiny assassin with a permanent scowl on his face has any right to. 

“What the…” Tim stares at him. “But he always wakes up in the Batmobile after he falls asleep post-patrol when we try to get him out.”

“Well, yeah, but we’re home now, he knows he’s safe. I’ll be right back.”

On his way to Damian’s room, he passes Dick’s bedroom, and the door opens to reveal Bruce again. Jason just can’t catch a fucking break today. He keeps walking, and Bruce follows him.

“Were you moping after Dick in his room again?” Jason asks.

When Jason dares a glance at him, he catches how Bruce’s nose flares – he’s holding back a laugh. Something in Jason softens that Bruce is willing to let him see the small expression. “I wanted to check in on Damian. He wasn’t in his bedroom.”

“So you went to Dick’s room next?” Jason asks as Bruce takes the lead on the way to Damian’s room. Bruce pushes Damian’s bedroom door open, and Jason follows. “Can’t believe this. I’m holding the softest little baby assassin ever.”

“ _Ex_ -assassin. Where was he?”

“Replacement’s room,” Jason tells him. He’s expecting at least an angry vein at the nickname but Bruce’s nose flares again as he pulls the bedcovers open.

“And what exactly were you doing in there?”

Yikes. Jason did not think this shit through. “His bathroom door was open, I wasn’t being a creep or anything,” he says, walking towards Bruce to lay Damian down.

His baby brother turns to his side and curls into a foetal position as Jason pulls the duvet over him, tucking him in. When Jason straightens back up to look at Bruce, the ever-present invincibility of the Bat is nowhere to be found. Right now, he just sees his old mentor. His _father,_ who has just celebrated his 45th birthday a few months ago, and that age is all over his face. Bruce sits beside Damian, his hand a hair’s width away from Damian’s skin. Jason knows when he’s unwanted, so he begins to walk out of the room.

“Get some rest, Jaylad,” Bruce says as Jason passes the threshold. For the first time since he’s returned from the dead, he doesn’t reprimand the use of that old nickname.

“You too, B.”

-

Tim is, unsurprisingly, typing away at his laptop when Jason returns to his bedroom. He’s sitting on the bed, legs crossed and lower lip stuck between his teeth, the computer in front of him on the bed. Jason locks the bathroom door behind him, walks over to Tim’s door and locks it as well. When he reaches Tim, he sits beside him and waits for Tim to finish his train of thought and look up. When he does, Jason takes his face in his hands and kisses him soundly. Tim kisses back, huffing out a laugh into Jason’s mouth while wrapping his fingers around Jason’s wrists.

“Welcome home,” Tim says, and only now does Jason finally feel like he has come home. Tim pulls away from the kiss to reach for the collar of his shirt instead.

“Wow babe, right under B’s nose? You sure about that?” Jason teases, running his hands down Tim’s face to his neck. Tim pulls down the shirt and performs a gauging visual examination of the mottled red and yellow bruises along Jason’s clavicle.

“You’re sure it’s not broken?”

“Yeah, Biz checked,” Jason tells him.

“Because that’s what Bizzaro’s known for, his medical degree,” Tim mutters but lets the shirt fall back in place, pressing his hand over Jason’s heart instead. Jason would defend Biz, but he knows Tim doesn’t mean it. He’s just pissy because he’s worried. “We should ice it.”

“I’ve been icing it all night, and I can’t take it anymore; it’s better when it aches than when it's numb.”

Jason reaches for his hand, presses a few quick kisses to it before letting go. Then he moves until he’s sat down right behind Tim, the back of his shoulders pressed against the headboard. He brackets Tim’s legs with his own and throws his arms around Tim’s abdomen to pull him closer. “Whatcha working on, Timbo?”

“I need to present this paper at the journal club on Monday,” Tim tells him, leaning back against Jason’s chest, a comfortable and familiar weight. The pdf document is already littered with handwritten notes and highlighted sections. “Are you sure this doesn’t hurt?”

“You’re fine, I promise. And you’ve already read this paper, why are you giving it another go so early on a Sunday morning?”

“I’m just re-reading it, so I don’t miss anything,” Tim replies. “We have a lot of non-STEM majors in the class, and I want to be able to explain it well.”

Jason doesn’t say, “You don’t have to try so hard, it’s just an elective. You’re not a failure, you’re a good kid, and you’re not dropping out again”, because even if Jason knows that, it doesn’t mean it’s ever going to sink in with Tim. He’s like Dick. They’re the good kids, they’re not used to being the fuck-ups. It’s hard to convince Tim that Bruce doesn’t just keep him around for his skills.

Tim is Bruce’s family.

Jason is family-adjacent, if anything. But for some reason, Tim seems to see things exactly the other way around. He doesn’t bother starting this age-old argument. Instead, he leans forward and gently shuts the laptop and says, “Tell me about it.”

“Jay.” Tim reaches for the laptop, but Jason just grabs his forearm and brings it to rest on Tim’s abdomen.

“I’m non-STEM, hell I’m not even in college. If you can just tell me about it, make me understand, you’ll be fine.”

Tim huffs but relaxes. “So it’s tough to predict how vegetation distribution will change along with climate, especially in the Arctic, where it’s happening faster than anywhere else on the planet. Like we know that tundra is being replaced by boreal trees, but how quickly? And where? To answer these questions, these researchers used a few machine learning methods, some climate models, emissions scenarios and tree dispersal scenarios to create thirty-six future maps of potential Arctic vegetation distribution, and basically…”

Tim’s voice is soothing. Jason has been using old voice messages, again and again, to lull him to sleep over the last few weeks, but that’s nothing when compared with the reality of Tim’s hair on his face, his hands inside the cradle of Jason’s. He closes his eyes; he focuses on the shape of the words, on the movement of his shoulders against his chest as Tim speaks animatedly.

-

“Jason?” Jason opens his eyes. Tim is facing him now, his face radiant under the light of the early morning sun.

“Shit. Sorry, I fell asleep.” Jason blinks the last of the sleep out of his eyes. “Do you want to tell me again.”

“It’s okay, I think talking it out helped,” Tim replies. “Are you hungry? How’s your collarbone?”

Now that Tim mentions it, the discomfort in his shoulder makes itself known. It hurts like a bitch.

“It hurts like a bitch,” he says. “What time is it?”

“Half-past ten. Take this,” Tim says, handing him a cold pack wrapped in a towel. Jason takes it and presses it against his shoulder. “Alfred said brunch will be served in the garden around 11:30. I told him you’d gotten in last night.”

Jason takes a moment to look at Tim, really look, and realises that he’s wearing jeans and a _twenty-one pilots_ t-shirt, his hair tied up in a messy ponytail with shorter pieces escaping to frame his face. And he’s holding a mug of coffee. “Is that for you or me?” Jason asks, because you never know with Tim.

Tim has the good grace to look guilty as he hands Jason the half-empty mug. “It was _supposed_ to be for you. But what’s yours is mine, right?”

Jason shakes his head, so unbearably fond. “I’ll forgive you if you let me smoke in your room.”

Tim raises a single elegant eyebrow. “No. Now get out. Damian’s going to wake up any moment and wonder why he’s not suffocating me in my bed.”

Jason grins and leans forward to kiss Tim on the mouth quickly before climbing out of bed and stretching out his back, with one hand holding the cold pack in place and the other holding his coffee. “You know, if Damian caught us making out in here, he might never bother me again.”

Jason chuckles as he walks towards the shared bathroom. “Nice try, Timmy.”

“You said we’d tell them when you came back.”

Jason turns around a second to look at Tim, who’s reaching for his laptop nonchalantly. His face gives nothing away, which is exactly why Jason knows that this is a big fucking deal to him. Tim loves nothing more than his secrets, but with this one, he’s somehow anxious to get it out. “Tim, we’re stuck in the house with them, is this really the time to start a fight?”

“We’re stuck in a house with B, we’re going to have to accept that there will be fights no matter what. At least this way, we can cuddle in front of the fireplace instead of hiding from everyone.”

It’s hard to argue with Tim, especially since he’s an expert at winning arguments with Bruce. “Okay, okay. Lemme just have a cigarette or two before making life-changing decisions, okay?”

“Fair enough,” Tim says. “You’re on three cigarettes a day at the moment, so don’t go through it all on one go.”

Jason rolls his eyes so hard he’s surprised he doesn’t go blind. Why did he let Tim rope him into quitting smoking? (Because Jason’s a fucking moron who’s letting Tim lead him around by the dick, that’s why). He slips back into “his room” and grabs the cigarettes and a lighter. He opens the glass windows, then pushes the shutters open before settling himself into the window seat. He finishes the coffee first before carefully examining the mug. Once he’s sure that it’s not part of any of Alfred’s cherished tea sets, and he deems it suitable enough to serve as a makeshift ashtray.

The well-tended gardens of the estate sprawl below him. Bruce is out walking Titus with Damian, who is leading Batcow to her pasture. He knows this land. It used to be his home a long time ago. He watches them as they walk along the paths around the endemic plants. When he was a child, he used to play soccer on the mowed grass with Bruce. Now, most of the grass has been replaced with wild meadow flowers which grow around a white stone path.

The weeping cherry tree near the southern gates is covered in pink and white blossoms. He watches as the winding path leads Damian and Bruce towards the tree, though Titus is distracted by something in the meadows.

“Not the flowers, Titus!” Damian shouts, and Titus, a good boy, obeys and follows his master again. Though Damian and Titus walk past the massive tree, Bruce stops for a moment, and reaches for one of its low-hanging branches, running his hand over its vines.

Time stops. Then it rewinds.

This tree had started off as an off-shoot that had spent three weeks in a bucket of water in Jason’s bedroom before it’d finally grown roots. Eight years later, it is easily eight to ten metres in height. Bruce is at least a hundred metres away from the main house, but he turns around, aware he’s being watched. They’re frozen in a stalemate, their eyes locked. Jason can’t breathe.

“Titus, no! Leave the butterflies alone!” Damian shouts, thankfully disrupting the moment, and Bruce finally turns away. Jason finishes his cigarette, his eyes trained on _anywhere but Bruce._

-

Brunch is a quiet affair, mainly because Dick and Steph aren’t around and Jason’s stuffing his face full of cucumber sandwiches to prevent himself from saying something stupid. They sit in the south sunroom, its large glass doors open. Bruce asks after Damian’s schoolwork and violin lessons and asks him to play for everyone. Damian tries his best to hide how much his face brightens at the thought but fails pretty miserably. He ventures into the house and returns with his violin and a set of neatly organised sheet music.

“Currently, I am learning Pachelbel’s Canon in D. As my partner is quarantined in her home, Drake, you may be my piano accompaniment.”

“Urgh, can’t you just play by yourself? I haven’t played the piano in years.”

“Father!”

“Dami, if you want something from Tim, why don’t you actually ask him?” Bruce replies evenly, missing the look of surprise and affection on Tim’s face at being defended for a change. It leaves Jason feeling fond of Bruce as well.

Damian takes a deep breath and holds out the sheet music. “Timothy, will you accompany me on the piano?”

“Why can’t Bruce? He can play the piano just as well.”

“Father plays like a robot.”

_“I beg your pardon?”_

Jason cackles at the affronted look on Bruce’s face, but Damian pays him no mind. “I apologise for the frankness of my words, but it is the truth, Father. Though you are technically talented, you play with no emotion. Besides, Drake is already familiar with this arrangement for the piano.”

Tim stands up and walks over to Damian, grabbing the sheet music and skimming through. “Yeah, I am. But how exactly do you know that?”

Damian huffs and sets his music stand down, before setting the violin case on the ground to unpack it. “Your memory is far worse than I had believed, perhaps you shouldn’t be playing with me, after all. Did you forget the numerous times that you shamelessly disturbed my studies whilst practising this piece on the south wing grand piano? It took you weeks to master. I learned the violin piece by the end of the first week.”

Jason can’t help it, he bursts out in cackles. The number of insults this little shit will throw instead of just telling Tim that he wants to play music with him. From the corner of his eye, he can see Bruce raise his eyes to the heavens.

Tim sighs and walks towards the upright piano. He sits himself down at the bench and opens up the fallboard. “Alright, let’s give this a go then.”

Jason kicks his feet up on the rattan coffee table as they begin. The two youngest members of the family begin to play the arrangement in unison. Jason sneaks a glance at Bruce, who’s watching his sons with a serene look on his face. Tim’s body flows, all grace and elegance from the ends of his fingertips to the movement of his chest in time with the passage. Damian, who is stealthy but rarely elegant, for once matches Tim and the theme. It is as if finally they are speaking the same language.

“Imagine how long they could have been playing like this if he’d tried asking without insulting for a change,” Alfred says, quiet enough that only Bruce and Jason can catch his words. 

“Alfie, you know better than that,” Jason replies slyly. “Our Baby Bat is a Wayne, he’ll break out into hives if he showed genuine emotion. It’s genetic.”

“That’s absurd,” Bruce replies, and Jason bites back a wince. He’s ruined the moment again. He gears himself up for a fight, but Bruce says evenly, “he’s taking antihistamines for hay fever. At worst he’d have watery eyes.”

Bruce doesn’t look at him, but the wrinkles around his eyes give his non-existent smile away. Jason relaxes just as Tim and Damian finish playing, and joins in with Bruce and Alfred’s applause with a couple of whistles of his own. Damian scrunches his face at that, but before he can say anything, Tim starts playing again, this time, something that Jason can recognise: _Hedwig’s Theme._ Tim plays with his eyes challenging Damian, who rolls his eyes – the drama queen – yet nevertheless raises his bow again.

They sit and listen in peace as the boys play, with only the wind to disturb them. It blows some of the pink cherry blossoms into the sunroom. One lands on Bruce’s lap. He picks it up carefully like it’s something precious. When Bruce looks up at Jason, the flower cradled in his hand, it is Alfred who puts words to the complicated emotions on Bruce’s face. “We’re so happy you’re home, Master Jason.”

Jason thinks he might just believe them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a bit longer than expected, but it is longer than the other chapers so I hope you'll forgive me this!
> 
> If anyone's interested, the paper that Tim is meant to present at the journal club is:
> 
> Pearson, R. G. et al. Shifts in Arctic vegetation and associated feedbacks under climate change. Nat. Clim. Chang. (2013) doi:10.1038/nclimate1858.
> 
> Hope you liked the chapter, I won't say no to anyone wanted to tell me what they liked about it:D
> 
> Stay safe, everyone!
> 
> EDIT: I want to formally apologise about some colourist language that was used earlier in this chapter, that the wonderful s was willing to educate me about. I've removed it. I am deeply sorry for being so careless and racially insensitive. I headcanon Tim as Korean-American, but I was inadvertently emphasising Tim's fair skin, and equating beauty with paleness. I'm a woman of South Asian origin, so I should have been even more aware of this type of toxic language. Thank you for s again for correcting me so gently<3 I will be more mindful of my writing in the future, but if there is anything that you, my wonderful readers, find racist or harmful in any way, I really appreciate being called out for it. Fandom should be a place that's inclusive for all people.


	6. Bruce and Jason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bruce finally finds the words to show Jason how beloved he is.

Bruce knows as soon as he says it that he’s hit just the wrong nerve, and he’s proven correct when Jason abruptly walks away from the table. His son stomps off into the garden, and Bruce freezes, internally debating whether he should go after him or not when a small palm over the fingers of his left hand soothes him. “Give him a second, he knows you didn’t mean it like that.” And before Bruce could tell Tim to at least grab a jacket, he heads out, slippers and all, into the cold spring evening.

Alfred carves the roast chicken, and passes out the servings, reserving a drumstick for Jason and part of the thigh for Tim, and they wait, and wait, and wait. But the boys don’t return. When the grandfather clock strikes quarter to eight, Alfred walks briskly away, leaving him with Damian, who has lost since abandoned his seat for the floor under the table. Judging by the purrs, he is hiding with Alfred the Cat in his arms as he does when he’s sad and needs a hug, but doesn’t know how to ask for it. Bruce wishes Dick were here. Even though their blow-ups are infamous in the Family, when push comes to shove, they’ve always been one unit. “Damian, please wait here, I’ll be right back.”

Bruce stands up, walking towards the garden doors as Alfred re-enters that dining room with three jackets in his arms. He throws on his wool overcoat, thanks Alfred as he takes Jason and Tim’s coats, and heads out into the garden. His boys aren’t to be seen, but it doesn’t take the world’s greatest detective to follow the trail through the trampled pasture. He follows the footprints into the cemetery and catches the tail end of Jason’s last words, which leave him feeling worse than when Bane had broken his back.

“…if he actually thought of me as his son, he would have buried me here instead of next to that b-next to the woman who sold me out to the Joker.” Jason sounds like he’s been screaming for hours, his voice is so hoarse. 

Bruce turns the corner on the path and finds his sons. They don’t seem to have noticed him. Jason stands in front of his grandparents’ graves, with Tim pressed against his back, his arms around Jason’s chest. Bruce can’t see from this angle, but he suspects that Tim’s palm is sprawled over Jason’s heart. Tim presses kisses against the back of Jason’s neck, and Bruce knows he’s seeing facets of his sons that he’s never meant to see. “Jason, I’m sorry, but I don’t think he knew that. I didn’t know that until you told me and I’m a sneaky sneak who knows everything.”

Bruce takes a few steps back, making sure to place his feet exactly where they’d been earlier, hopefully loud enough to make them privy to his approach. Then he moves forward again to take the turn. And true enough, they’ve separated, Jason facing away from him and Tim, towards. The silence is so thick it chokes the words out of him.

“I didn’t know,” Bruce blurts out. “She told me you tried to save her before she died. I didn’t… I thought you would want to be buried next to her.” He remembers the day they buried Jason, with only Alfred next to him, Dick far away and hating Bruce, but at least blissfully unaware that he was no longer a big brother. He remembers the sound of the explosion, the burning of his eyes from the smoke. The horrible stench of burning flesh. He recollects them as profoundly as the sound of pearls hitting the ground on Crime Alley. “I wanted you here, next to your grandparents. Next to me, one day.”

The silence that follows is unbearable. Bruce wants to be next to his sons, but he’s frozen in time and memory, his feet refuse his orders. Then Tim unwittingly shivers, and Bruce pushes away the grief and walks towards his boys, wrapping Tim’s jacket around him.

“I’ll let you guys talk,” Tim says softly, then reaches for Jason’s hand and squeezes it tightly. He leans in to whisper into Jason’s ear, too quiet for Bruce, and then fixes Jason with a questioning look. Jason nods, and Tim leaves. It’s just Jason now, and Bruce, holding the leather jacket that smells like cigarettes and peppermint.

Jason doesn’t turn around, so Bruce slowly brings the jacket around his shoulders. Jason doesn’t start shouting and crying like Dick or turning into a polite outside persona like Tim or sulking like Damian. He does throw a punch like he usually does either. Instead, Jason crumbles, shoulders shaking. But Bruce is tired of not being able to help as his children hurt. He walks around until he’s facing Jason, cups the back of Jason’s neck with one hand and presses another to Jason’s back, bringing them close together, the way Bruce used to after hard nights on patrol. Back then, Bruce had a lot more than half an inch on him, and Jay’s head would lay right against his heart; now, Jason has to bend down to press his face into his neck.

It feels exactly the same as it did then.

“I was already losing you, and then you ran away, looking for your mother. I thought you didn’t want to be a Wayne anymore.” There are hot tears on his neck, muffled gasps, as Jason holds onto the lapels of his coat tightly. “I didn’t want to bury you as someone you ran away from. I didn’t want to bury you at all.” The words spill out as sobs, jagged and rough and all he can think of is the heat of early summer, and how he had to stop getting coffee beans from Ethiopia because just the word would take him back to that dreadful day. “I should never have taken you to Ethiopia again.”

In his grief for Damian, Bruce had forgotten the pain he lived with for so long, how the twenty-seventh of April always feels like a fresh stab in his chest. How just yesterday, the first of April, Bruce had woken up with dread in his heart despite the knowledge that Jason was asleep in Tim’s bed, safe and sound. How even now that Jason is alive again, Bruce finds an excuse to see him on that day even when it would lead to another argument because he’d rather Jason throw insults and punches at him than stay silent in a coffin on the other side of Gotham. He can’t speak, his voice fails him, his throat fails him. _I’m sorry. I love you. I love you so much that I think losing you has broken me irreparably. I think if it weren’t for Tim, I’d have died from the loss of you. I want you to come home, I want to read Moby Dick to you as you fall asleep wearing Wonder Woman pyjamas. But I let my grief for you blind me to the fact that you are here and alive and need me to be your father just as much as Damian does._

“You were right, old man. You deserve to watch Damian grow up.” Jason finally says into his neck, and then resolutely pushes him away.

As almost always when dealing with the people who have made him their family, Bruce finds himself at a loss for words. A cold, swift wind rustles the tree leaves, and samaras fly off of the maple trees. One passes right between them as it carries its seed far away from its parent tree. It makes him turn his face towards another tree, a weeping cherry. Jason follows his gaze, but straightens up, no longer willing to put up with Bruce’s emotional baggage. If Bruce doesn’t speak now, the moment is lost and Jason will leave.

“Do you remember when we planted that tree together?” He finally asks. Jason nods warily. “It bloomed for the first time exactly a year after your death. I nearly took an axe to it. Alfred wouldn’t let me. I’m glad I didn’t.”

"It’s a fucking monster tree now,” Jason finally says, jaw trembling, cheeks wet again with fresh tears. 

“I think it’s perfect.” Bruce reaches for his face slowly, but Jason flinches. So instead, he takes out a cloth handkerchief from his pocket and holds it out for Jason to take. He accepts it, but turns to hide his face from Bruce. He pats his grandparents' gravestones gingerly, as he used to so long ago, and begins to make his way out of the cemetery. Bruce breathes in and out, trying to keep pushing his wild emotions away, to hold on to what sanity he has left, but staring at his parents’ names don’t help.

Suddenly, the sound of Jason’s footsteps cease. “I’m getting my GED. There will be a celebration in May if you want to come.”

“I’d like that, Jaylad,” Bruce says quietly, but not unhappily. The footsteps begin again. Considering the current pandemic situation, it may get cancelled. In that case, they’ll celebrate in the manor.

A little later, when he returns to the dining room, he finds Damian and Tim bickering over some Chinese drama that they’re watching on Netflix Party with Cass. They haven’t regressed to blows yet, so they’re probably okay. Bruce isn’t expecting Jason to have remained for the rest of dinner, but he’s in his seat, Alfred the Cat purring in his lap.

Far later, long after they finish dinner, after everyone returns from patrol and Bruce tucks Damian into bed, he passes through the library on his way to bed. He’s looking for the daily crossword he wanted to finish before bed, but finds Tim instead. He’s working away, with a cup of coffee on the side table, Jason asleep at his side, his legs serving as a table for Tim’s laptop. Tim stops for a moment, reaching for coffee with one hand, and running his fingers over Jason’s back with the other. “Jay, you can’t sleep here. Your shoulder's still bruised, you need to sleep in a real bed.”

Bruce wonders if this is the right time to interrupt, to tell them that he knows and it’s okay. They don’t have to hide anymore. But they’ve already had one emotional confrontation today, he’s not sure any of them can take another. Jason’s voice cuts through Bruce’s indecision. “I will if you will.”

The laptop snaps shut. Tim places it carefully on the coffee table and pushes Jason’s legs away to stand up. He never gets to, because Jason covers Tim’s face with his hands and pulls him into a deep kiss. Quickly but silently, Bruce retraces his steps back out of the library. He can come back for the newspaper later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're still enjoying this fic and staying healthy!


	7. Dick and the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dick Grayson finally gets to come home.

Dick Grayson finishes up his breakfast, a bag of potato chips that Alfred is never _ever_ going to find out about. He’s ready to crawl into bed and sleep for a week. However, Dick’s also unsure whether he’ll be able to get up from his sprawling position on top of his kitchen island. To be fair, it’s a big enough space for him to sleep on if he has to. He sighs. He’s getting old. He used to work eleven-hour days, hit the skyscape as Nightwing for another four, sleep for two hours and be ready for his next shift at the BHPD. Nowadays, if he does that… well, for the third night in a row, he’d just worked for twelve hours guarding the storage rooms of Bludhaven General Hospital like a mall (or hospital) cop. He’s not sure he can feel his legs.

He’d be angry about it.

He used to be a detective dammit, the youngest detective on the force. But disappearing on the job and then reappearing with no explanation doesn’t earn him any medals, let alone a promotion. And it may be boring, but security is still a necessary job. While most types of crime have shown a marked decrease, there’s been a worryingly steep increase in low-level thugs setting aside cocaine and picking up N95 masks to sell at fifty times the original prices. Nightwing has taken to beating them up and dropping them off at the nearest precinct when Dick Grayson gets a few hours off and can manage to keep his eyes open. 

He’s still debating whether he should nap on the island or move to his bed when his sleeping laptop lights up next to him, indicating an incoming video call from Bruce. Bruce rarely calls unless there’s an emergency or he’s struggling to deal with something that Damian’s cooked up. He can’t ignore this, so he sighs and picks up the call. “Hey B. All quiet on the manor front?”

Bruce is calling from his study, wearing a full suit and a frown. He must have meetings with the Foundation later. “Wayne Tech has created a more accurate COVID-19 test with a twenty-minute rather than three-hour waiting period. I’ve asked for a dozen to be delivered to the manor.”

“Bruce, I can’t take tests away from people who may need them, there are huge testing shortages all around the country.” God knows he’s heard enough medical personnel complain about this problem. “I don’t wanna be one of the assholes who get to have a test because of my rich dad’s connections.”

“We’re making hundreds of thousands of test kits, Dick,” Bruce answers. “And they’ll be free thanks to the Foundation. You’re off for the next two days. Come over now, and you could potentially have lunch with us.”

Dick _wants_ to go the manor. He’s not quite settled back in Bludhaven again. Dick doesn’t have many close friends here, and he misses his family, even if they always make him want to wring their necks. He’s not so angry at Bruce that he has to fight the longing for home. Dick’s grown now, he can admit that he’s lonely. Sure, he’s been calling his siblings, and he and his teammates have spent hours playing Titan-wide rounds of _Cards Against Humanity._ He’s gotten daily voice messages from Damian on _WhatsApp_ informing him about his day. Still, none of that replaces what he misses and needs the most: touch.

Dick craves Alfred’s hand on his shoulder, Damian’s hugs, Babs’s fingers in his hair. He misses the way both Jason and Steph punch his shoulder to show affection, and how Tim won’t ever ask for it but soaks up touch like a starved plant in the rain. He thinks about how much he used to cling to Bruce when they had both been younger and gentler, before the world had stolen more than they could take, far before it had ever given anything back. 

Dick just wants to go home. And he’s not that kid anymore, the one who couldn’t come home without yelling himself hoarse and leaving with his eyes wet. He can go home now, and it won’t cost him anything. Not anymore.

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

-

“You’re clear,” Bruce tells Dick an hour after he enters the Cave, and allows him out of isolation. He’s gone through decontamination, and then directly into an isolation room, where he’d taken a nose swab and a blood sample himself and let Bruce do the test. “You’ve got antibodies for it though.”

“Really? Guess I’m one of the asymptomatic ones,” Dick says as Bruce hands him his now disinfected and sterilised duffle bag. “Wait, does this mean I can just come and go, now?”

“No. You’ll still need testing every time.” Bruce leads the way up to the grandfather clock. “We don’t know enough about the adaptive immune response to COVID-19 to determine how long the immunity will last.”

“Good to know,” Dick knocks shoulders with Bruce. “This would be a pain every night, but at least now I can come by on my days off. I’m talking to myself, and I don’t want to steal the moniker of local eccentric from our Timbit if I can help it.”

“No that really won’t do, Master Richard.” Alfred is walking towards them in the hallway near the Cave entrance, his arms full with smoothies balanced on a platter.

“Hey Al,” Dick says, and something in him just releases. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Likewise, this old house is far too quiet without you,” Alfred says. Dick leans in and gives him a quick side hug before grabbing a smoothie. “Now, lunch will be served in an hour, but I know your appetites so drink up.”

“Too quiet? Don’t tell me you’ve started to miss Damian and Tim’s fighting,” Bruce says as Alfred hands him a smoothie.

“About as much as I enjoy having to handwash blood-soaked clothing, I’d say,” Alfred retorts. “Welcome home, Master Richard. I believe your brothers are in the library.”

-

Jason, Tim and Damian are indeed all set up in the east wing library, their books and laptops sprawling across four large desks pushed together in the middle of the room. Tim has his large noise-cancelling headphones on as he faces away from Dick and types lightning fast on his computer. From the look of it, Jason’s just watching YouTube videos. Across the table, Damian is taking notes from a textbook down in a composition notebook. 

“Grayson!” Damian sees them first. He clambers up his desk and steps over Tim’s laptop. He then uses Tim’s shoulders as a jumping-off point to take a leap towards Dick, confident that his big brother will always catch him no matter what.

And he does.

The force of Damian’s antics expectedly make him veer backwards slightly, and Bruce’s hand is right there on his back, catching him before he ends up ass-first on the marble floor. 

“I missed you, Little D,” Dick says into his ear. He breathes in the scent of Damian: his shampoo, the almond-scented baby laundry detergent that Alfred still buys for Damian’s clothes.

“And I you, Grayson,” Damian mumbles into his ear, his heels digging into Dick’s sides. Dick holds him tightly, possibly too tightly, because Damian pushes him, struggling to get out of the grip as quickly as he’d entered it. “Put me down immediately.”

Dick sets him on the ground, but reaches for his head and kisses him smack on the forehead before finally letting go. Damian clears his throat but miraculously, no longer puts up a fight. Dick looks up to see Tim standing up and facing Dick, leaning against his chair as he pulls his headphones off and sets them down on the desk. There’s a small wistful smile on his face. Jason, on the other hand, is still seated. He twists around in his chair and grins at Dick. “Aww, I see how it is, Baby Bat. You’re going to go hang out at the cool kids’ table now that your favourite brother’s back, huh?”

“You didn’t tell us you were coming,” Tim says, his knee twitching as if he wants to come closer but doesn’t dare try. Of course he doesn’t. No matter how many times Dick makes it clear that he loves to touch Tim, the little dummy never gets it.

“I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get our hands on the rapid test kits by today,” Bruce answers.

“Which means I had the perfect chance to surprise my brothers,” Dick says. Then he walks over to Tim and wraps him up in a tight embrace. Tim freezes for a fraction of a second like he’s not sure what’s happening. Then he reciprocates, splaying both hands over Dick’s shoulders and breathing in deeply.

God, he’s missed this. Yeah, they’re volatile and when they fight it usually ends in blood and tears, and somebody storming out of the manor, but Dick loves his family. Yes, he’s the oldest, and he was the first Robin, so in a way, this is his legacy. Robin is the name his mother gave him, the name that means family. And it means he’s responsible for them. Dick may have learned that lesson far too late the first time around, but he knows better now. He keeps an arm thrown over Tim’s shoulder even as he pulls away and pivots his body from the hip to look at Jason. From this distance, he can see that the YouTube video is a _Crash Course Biology_ one and that there’s a textbook next to the laptop: the McGraw-Hill GED textbook.

“Hey Little Wing.”

“Stop calling me that. I am four inches taller than you,” Jason says, and, as if to prove it, stands up to his full height. It would be a lot more intimidating if it weren’t for the ink stain on his chin.

“Nope, I’ll always be older, and you’ll always be my Little Wing,” Dick retorts and lets go of Tim to reach for Jason.

“If you hug me, I will shoot you.”

Dick grins and plasters himself to Jason, throwing his arms around those enormous biceps and locking them in place. He’s so big. Who the hell gave him permission to get so big? Dick sure as hell didn’t. “With your rubber bullets? Give me another ten seconds, and then you go right ahead. I won’t even complain.”

Jason huffs, but he does allow it, until he can’t anymore, bringing his hands up to wrap around Dick’s arms and push him away.

“Richard, stop wasting your time, I have much to show you, you’ve been away for far too long. Why didn’t you reply to my letters?”

“What letters? I didn’t get any letters.”

“Father!” Damian’s glare is now focused on Bruce, and it’s eerie, how even though Damian resembles his mother most, in moments like this, all Dick sees is Bruce.

“I had them sent, I promise. USPS is likely overwhelmed at the moment,” Bruce tells him.

“I knew I should have called a speedster, there are far too many of them running around, they may as well have made themselves useful.”

“Or you could, you know, maybe send an e-mail,” Tim points out.

“Drake, I astound at how you run the family enterprise when you seem to be missing all of your brain cells. Enlighten me, how exactly do I send him my almond cookies by e-mail?” Damian snaps then stomps over. “Come now, if these freeloaders haven’t finished them already, I’ll be able to salvage some for you from the pantry.”

“I am literally here under duress!” Tim snaps at Damian, though the mirth in his sparkling eyes give him away even as Damian reaches for Dick’s hand and tugs him out of the library.

“I’m definitely a freeloader though,” Jason calls out, and Dick finds himself laughing as Damian drags him away by the warmth of tiny little fingers that barely wrap around Dick’s wrist.

Dick Grayson feels old, far older than twenty-seven. His feet are aching, and he’s fighting to keep his eyes open. But all he wants is to spend some quality time with his family. If that means sacrificing a bit of rest, he’ll gladly do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	8. Dick and Cereal (and the Family too, I guess)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick's a big brother and he should be used to his siblings' theft of his personal belongings. So of course he isn't.

Tim is dozing, his forehead resting against the coffee machine as it slowly makes elixir out of coffee beans. It is a little past four in the morning. He’s just finished locating the assholes responsible for the ransomware attack on West Mercy General and passing the information to GCPD, who are perfectly capable of handling a couple of asthmatic geeks lacking in moral compasses. He’s meant to go for a run with Dick in an hour, which leaves him fifty minutes to replace blood and plasma with caffeine and another ten to change into workout clothes. Everyone else is still asleep, even Alfred, which is why he jumps a mile when he hears a creepy moaning sound from the closed pantry. 

Tim opens a drawer slowly to grab a kitchen knife, but then puts it back down when he hears another sound, this one far more familiar. “What happened to you?”

Tim sighs, then shuts the drawer and heads for the pantry, where he finds Dick sitting on the floor. He’s clutching a box of Reese’s Puffs like he’s Harry Potter and the cereal is a freshly _Avada Kedavra’_ d Cedric Diggory. “Dick?”

Dick looks up at him. “What monster finishes the cereal but doesn’t throw the box away? How would Alfred know to order more?”

Ah. Well, there’s really only one culprit that he can think of, but Tim is curious to see how long it will take Dick to figure that out. He’s also got capital invested in this. “Why are you up so early?”

“Not used to not patrolling. Did you eat my Reese’s Puffs? Did you do this Timmy?”

“I didn’t.”

“Are you sure? Fine!” Dick pulls himself up. “Then you’re going to help me find the person who did.”

“Yeah, you’re on your own. I need coffee if we’re going on a run later.”

Dick’s eyes narrow. “So you didn’t eat it, but you won’t help me find the perp? FINE! Jogging is cancelled! Everything is cancelled! I’m getting to the bottom of this mystery, right now!” And with that he runs out of the room, the box still clutched in his hands. Tim looks up to the ceiling. It’s been two days since Dick came home and the relative calm of the house has since then been rapidly disassembled. However, this seems like an extreme reaction, even for Dick.

He follows Dick out of the kitchen and up the stairs towards the master bedroom. “Are you seriously going to bug Bruce about this? He doesn’t even like cereal.”

Dick stops. “Fair enough. I’ll wake up Damian, you get Jason. Meet me in the kitchen in 5.”

“Your funeral, but sure,” Tim says, and parts ways with him, intending to find his boyfriend and sleep for a few hours, especially if he doesn’t have to go for a run with Dick later.

“And Tim?” Dick says as Tim turns the corner towards his bedroom.

“Yeah?”

“If I have to come to get you, I’m telling Bruce I saw you mixing Red Bull and coffee yesterday.”

_Well, shit._

-

When Tim and a rightfully annoyed Jason make it back down to the kitchen, it’s to find Damian glaring down Dick, his hands crossed on his chest. “How dare you accuse me of eating your cereal? I would never ingest that amount of sugar.”

Dick actually looks penitent for a moment. Then he sees Jason. “YOU!”

Jason ignores Dick and heads for the electric tea kettle, filling it up with water before turning it on. “Tea, Dames?”

“Yes, please.” Damian climbs into a chair at the kitchen island, sitting down beside the fruit bowl with his legs crossed. “I have an oral exam in four hours, and I’ll likely just stay awake, _thank you,_ _Grayson_.”

“The social studies one?”

“Obviously, Timothy.” Oh, that’s a surprise. He rarely earns the first name treatment. Either Damian appreciates that Tim remembered a detail from dinner last night, or he’s that pissed off at Dick. “Use the strong Earl Grey, please.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to have that much caf—"

“Jason Peter Todd, did you eat my Reese’s Puffs?”

“Richard John Grayson, are you trying to wake up the entire house?” Bruce’s voice floats through from the doorway. “I could hear you in my bedroom.”

“They ate my cereal and didn’t put the box in the recycling!” Dick shoots back just as the coffee stops trickling into the pot. Tim sneaks in between Dick and Jason to pour himself and Bruce cups of coffee.

“I fucking didn’t, though,” Jason retorts as Tim walks towards the doorframe to hand Bruce his mug. He stands there next to Bruce, leaning against the fridge.

“Jason, language.” Bruce rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. “ _Please._ ”

“Well, one of you,” Dick says, pointing his finger and waving it around at all of them, “one of you did, and you’re lying about it because this box is empty!”

“For the last time, I didn’t eat your fucking cereal,” Jason says. Bruce sighs deeply next to Tim.

“Technically, it’s not your cereal, you don’t live here anymore,” Tim says lightly.

“Neither do you!”

“I’d like to point out that I’m here under duress.”

“Dick, please tell me you haven’t woken up the entire house because of cereal.” Bruce frowns at Dick, but this is Nightwing, he’s got more experience getting into shouting matches with Batman than anyone else in the world.

“It’s not just about cereal, it’s about the principle!” Dick yells. “When I came home, my duvet was missing, and Alfred still has no idea where it went. Plus, all my shirts are gone, and someone stole a photograph from my bedroom, and now the cereal’s finished, but the box is in the pantry and how would Alfred know to get more if the box is still in the pantry? And Timmy, are you wearing _my_ shirt?”

“Uh no, it’s Jason’s,” Tim says, and immediately he feels his face heat up.

“I may have nicked that off of Big Bird a while ago,” Jason mumbles.

“So it _was_ you!” Dick screeches.

“Makes sense, he does have a history of theft,” Tim muses, catching the smirk on Bruce’s face as Jason gapes at the betrayal. “Also, he’s wearing one of your shirts right now.”

“JASON!”

“Tim, what the _fuck_?”

“So is Damian, come to think of it.”

“DRAKE!”

“Why in the world are you all screaming at each other? Did a bat fly into the house again?” a new voice joins the conversation, gently pushing Bruce out of the doorway to saunter in.

“Hey Steph,” Tim says. “How’s exam review coming along?”

“I hate stats,” she replies. “I hope whoever invented stats is burning in hell.”

“Steph?” Dick says, as Damian says, “Fatgirl?”

“Rude.” Jason, who was pulling out mugs from the cupboard, stops to smack Damian mildly up the head and then walks around the island. He grabs milk from the fridge and then Tim, pulling him back into the kitchen, over six feet away from Steph. “When did you get here?”

“Like a week ago? Did you seriously not know I was here? Bruce tested me when I came in. So you can let go of Tim now,” Steph says as she walks over to the counter and pours herself a cup of coffee. Tim tries his best not to pout, he was about to pour that into his now empty mug. He’ll have to make some more.

“Bruce, you knew she was here the whole time? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I assumed you all knew, it was in the Cave logs,” Bruce lies, because it may have been in the logs but barely anyone’s checking them these days because who would be visiting?

“Okay, out of curiosity, raise your hand if you knew I was here,” Steph says, eyes narrowing. Tim raises his mug. The others do not. Steph cackles, putting down her coffee so she can clutch her stomach. “Are you _serious_? I’m telling Cass, greatest detectives, my _ass_! B-man, seriously, your children are hopeless. Not you, Tim, you’re doing great sweetie.”

“Silence yourself, Fatgirl!” Damian snaps. “Why are you even here?”

“Damian, you do not speak to Steph like that, apologise immediately,” Bruce sternly orders.

“I apologise,” Damian mumbles.

“That’s okay,” Steph says. “I know you mean it with love.”

“I do not!” Damian denies, but only cringes when she leans in from behind and obnoxiously kisses the top of his head. 

“My mom was driving me crazy and making me eat her shitty home-baked bread, okay? B said I could come here and study if I wanted to. I’ve been camping out in the attic.” Steph grabs her coffee mug again and heads towards Dick to snatch the cereal box from his hands. “Hey, Reese’s Puffs! Did Alfie get more?”

A pause.

Dick’s face turns so red it could easily double as Jason’s helmet.

“ _YOU?”_

“Will you stop screaming like a banshee? And I what?”

“You finished the cereal?”

“Yeah, so?”

Jason is shaking with laughter so much the tea kettle is shaking in his hand, spilling hot water onto the counter. Tim shakes his head, grabbing the kettle to prepare the tea. He adds some milk for Damian before setting it onto the island next to him.

Dick’s finally starting to look like a human being again. “Why didn’t you throw it away?”

“Then how will Alfred know to buy more?” Steph asks, heading back to the pantry to put it back in its place.

“ _What?”_

“You know, so he’ll see it and get more?”

“Why would he get more if he sees we already have it?”

“Because the top is left open and it’s empty?”

“What kind of stupid logic is that?” Dick whispers hoarsely, as if he’s completely done with everything. It resonates with Tim, who remembers Steph crashing in his apartment and leaving empty milk bottles in the fridge. It’s an argument that he never won because it’s just the way Steph was raised and you can’t fight that.

“My mom’s logic, you douchebag!”

“Alfie knows his pantry, he orders things when he notices they are missing, which is the logical thing to do!”

“Okay, first of all, you’re both wrong,” Jason says. “There’s literally a grocery list on the magnet wall next to the fridge, so you should add shit to the list if it’s finished. Second, if everyone will shut up and calm the fuck down, we can make chocolate peanut butter pancakes.”

Dick and Steph look at each other and shrug. “I won’t say no to pancakes,” Steph says.

“Fine.”

“Great,” Jason says, rolling up his long sleeves. “Big Bird, you get the peanut butter and chocolate chips from the pantry. Damian, go outside and see if your chickens have laid eggs yet. Steph, get half a dozen bananas and start mashing them up. Tim, sit down on the window seat and take a nap. Bruce.”

“Yes.”

Jason winces. Tim has a sudden flashback to a long weekend without Alfred, and the worst tuna sandwich he’d ever eaten. “No. Just… _no_. Sit down. Don’t touch anything.”

Tim will have to ask Jason about cooking escapades with Bruce one day.

Steph chortles as she reaches for the bananas. 

“Hold! Everyone freeze!” Dick shouts.

“What, pray tell, do you want now?” Jason sighs, looking up at the ceiling.

“I still don’t know who stole my duvet and the photo in my room.”

Damian climbs out of his chair and makes a beeline for the chicken coop. Dick’s face instantly switches to joy. “Aww, he really missed me, huh?”

“You dollophead, of course he did,” Jason says. Tim uses the distraction to replace the coffee filter and start a new pot of coffee. “Replacement, I think I told you to take a nap. Old man, on second thought, go take a nap with him.”

Tim resolutely ignores him, but the jar of coffee beans that was within hands’ reach is suddenly too far away as Bruce grabs him from behind by his waist and drags him towards the window seat.

“Hey, and what about my t-shirts? You can’t all just keep taking my clothes without my permission. Respect my belongings,” Dick says.

Bruce stops and turns around to pointedly stare at the shirt hanging loosely off of Dick’s torso. Tim sniggers as Dick looks down slowly and realises he’s wearing one of Bruce’s shirts.

“Better get used to it, Dick,” Bruce says before tightening his grip on Tim and dragging him towards the window seat again. “I did.”

“I win,” Tim says once he’s sure that the others can’t hear them. 

“I shouldn’t have been so sure that Damian would realise there was someone else in the house earlier,” Bruce says as they sit down on opposite sides of the seat. Outside the window, Damian is dutifully thanking each hen for its egg with a cuddle.

“That sounds like a you problem. I’d prefer Venmo, but I’ll take cash too.”

Bruce rolls his eyes and pulls out a single crisp one-dollar bill from his wallet before passing it over. “Yes, Tim. You win.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my awesome beta Rachel asked me why Bruce would be carrying his wallet around the house, and honestly, I don't have an explanation for this. It's about as explicable as a billionaire walking around with singles in his wallet I suppose.
> 
> Anyways thanks for reading and suspending your disbelief! Special thank you for subscribing, bookmarking and commenting on this fic! Your feedback keeps me going.


	9. Dick and Tim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tim is reminded that he's still got a big brother, and some difficult conversations are had.

It has been 9 hours since Tim left the office. Dick has watched Alfred make three coffee runs, the last of which was decaf. He's helping Alfred clean up after an informal Sunday dinner with Bruce and Damian. Dick had been hoping to have dinner with everyone before he has to leave for work tomorrow morning. But tomorrow is one of Jason’s online GED tests, so he’s cramming in the library, and Steph is still in pre-midterms crisis mode. She had snuck down earlier to retrieve dinner with a post-it stuck to her cheek asking whoever saw it to test her about the four assumptions of an Analysis of Variance. Dick had asked her. She had gotten through three before swearing and taking off. 

As customary, Damian leaves after dinner to practise the violin, and Bruce sequesters himself in the Cave with a new case. Dick has set himself up on the kitchen island, polishing the silverware as Alfred arranges pork buns and baked spring rolls on a plate. They look a bit wonky, as they’re more Damian’s handiwork than Alfred’s, but they’re delicious, and Dick is proud.

“Did we not leave any fried rice for Tim?” Dick asks.

“I have found that finger foods work best when it comes to feeding Master Timothy in the middle of work,” Alfred explains. He places the plate on a wooden tray with a glass of cold green tea and a bowl of sliced bell peppers and cucumber.

"I'll take that up," Dick says, putting down the polishing cloth and knife. Alfred pushes the tray across the island.

"Thank you, Master Richard. He was in a meeting with some investors in Tokyo. If there’s a sticky-note on the door, the meeting’s still ongoing. Just bring the plate back down, and I’ll keep it warm in the oven and try later.”

“He seems really busy,” Dick comments. “How’s he been?”

Alfred fixes him with a scrutinising look. “Why don’t you ask him?”

Dick looks down at his hands. His relationship with Tim has improved vastly since the days of Tim leaving the manor angry and hurt after Dick had given Robin to Damian. But they’re not what they used to be. Dick’s in Bludhaven, and Tim’s not at the manor even when he finds the time to stop by for a visit. Tim has his own place in the city, but more often than not, when Dick visits, the place feels foreign to him, like he doesn’t belong. There’s a distance between them that Dick doesn’t know how to cross, a gap that he’s not sure Tim wants Dick to close.

“I don’t know if I have that right anymore, Al,” Dick finally says.

“Did you get a concussion after patrol last night?” Alfred asks. “Because Master Richard, I’m not sure your head is on right. Between university and the company, I’m not sure Tim’s had any human interaction that isn’t investors from Japan and Australia all day. You’re his big brother. It’s not your right to check up on him, it’s your responsibility.”

Dick can feel his cheeks heat up at the chastisement. “You’re right as always, Alfred.”

“Well, one learns a lot from raising a household of troublemakers,” Alfred says drily. “And if you can, see to it that he goes to bed early tonight. The only sleep he’s had since Friday morning was the nap he had in the kitchen before breakfast on Saturday morning.”

“I’ll try my best," Dick says.

“Otherwise, you can recruit Master Damian, he’s become rather good at intimidating Master Timothy into taking care of himself,” Alfred says good-naturedly. Dick grins back and stands up to head out of the kitchen. “One moment, Master Richard.”

“Yes?”

Alfred walks around the island and reaches up with one hand to brush his fingers through Dick’s hair. He tucks the extra length behind Dick’s ear. “You’re starting to _look_ like Master Timothy.”

“Are you itching to give me a hair cut, Al?”

“It suits you for now. Next week, however, is a different question.” Alfred smiles again, revealing far more wrinkles than Dick remembers. He pats Dick’s cheek with his hand before pulling away. “Well, I’d say hop to it, but I haven’t had to repair a chandelier in nearly a year. I’d like to continue that trend.”

“Aww Al, I make chandelier climbing look like an art.”

“Sure, when you were _nine,”_ Alfred retorts. “I’m not sure the antiques can hold your weight anymore.”

“Maybe I should test that theory,” Dick says conspiratorially, wiggling an eyebrow.

Alfred huffs. “Just bring the tray to Master Timothy, please. Hold the hijinks.”

“Aye aye, Captain, no hijinks!” Dick salutes and takes the tray, leaving the kitchen with a grin on his face.

There’s no sticky-note in sight when Dick approaches the door to the study, so he knocks and enters. Dick finds Tim in a figure-four stretch on the floor, the laptop on the coffee table in front of him. He's sporting sweatpants and a tank top. His button-up shirt, tie and blazer have been thrown over the arm of the sectional. His hair is a tangled, loose mess, curling around his neck. "Is this some new cultural thing in Japan?"

“Haha very funny. _Not_.” Tim rolls his eyes. The bags under his eyes have bags. “Meeting finished about ten minutes ago. My lower back is killing me.”

“That’s what happens to little boys who don’t keep to their fitness regime,” Dick replies, walking over to the coffee table and setting down the tray before sitting down on the sectional. “Are you done for the day?"

"I need to proof-read a paper due tomorrow and reply to like twenty emails. Then I’m done," Tim answers, switching legs with a groan. “Do you think Bruce will mind if I replace his thousand-dollar office chair of pain with an exercise ball?”

“No, but you will when you fall asleep at the desk and fall on your ass,” Dick says. “What’s the paper about? Can I read it over while you eat dinner?”

“It’s for my corporate strategy class, it’s fine.”

“Tim, I’m no big-shot CEO, but I did go to college. Let me look it over.”

“If you’re sure,” Tim says, standing up to stretch his back one last time before sitting down on the plush carpet on the floor in front of the dinner tray. From this angle, Dick is made privy of to a fresh love bite, just behind the junction of Tim’s neck and shoulder, nearly hidden by his hair.

_Huh._

Were Steph and Tim a thing again? There really isn’t anyone else in the house that it could be. Well, actually, he has to reassess that. Any idiot who spends more than a minute with Jason and Tim can clearly see Jason’s feeling written all over his face. Whether Tim returns those feelings is much harder to ascertain. The kid’s known for lying to Batman, after all.

So it’s got to be Steph or Jason — more likely Steph because he’s not sure Jason’s ever asked anyone out. That is, unless Tim's been sneaking out of the house (or sneaking someone in). Dick dismisses either possibility as unlikely. Damian has perfected the art of becoming Tim’s shadow, and he'd have noticed. Dick decides to shelve that talk for now. You don't get saddled with four younger siblings and survive without learning how to save blackmail material.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Give it to me.”

“Okay, hold on.” He types into the computer in front of him. Dick leans forward and lifts the plate cover, letting the smell of the pork buns waft around the room. Tim begins to type with one hand as he reaches for one of them. Tim pushes the laptop in his direction, and Dick accepts it. It’s two thousand words on the methods for the valuation of corporate securities. “Tim, why are you even taking this class?”

“I’m majoring in business administration.”

“I thought you were majoring in computer science. Babs said you had classes with her?”

“Yep, it’s a double major,” Tim says. Something inside Dick just aches. They’ve been drifting apart, there’s so much he doesn’t have the privilege of knowing anymore. Dick reminds himself of Alfred’s words, but he can’t _stand_ it. He’s interrupted from his thoughts by Tim’s next question. “Are you sure you want to spend the limited time you have in the manor reading a boring paper for me?”

“Yeah, of course, it’s all part of big brother duties. I signed a contract and everything,” Dick jokes.

Tim doesn’t laugh. He picks up a second bun and takes a small bite. Dick waits as he chews and swallows, clearly using the extra time to think about what he wants to say. “I figured you'd want to spend what little time you had with Damian, that little demon missed you something fierce. It was pathetic. And precious. Did Jason send you the video of him asleep in your room?"

"Yep." Dick smiles at the memory. Then he sighs. Tim doesn’t mean it as an accusation, not anymore. But there’s a part of Tim’s heart that Dick has stabbed, unwittingly, a bleed that constantly screams: he doesn’t want you. ” And Dick _needs_ to fix it. “But I haven’t gotten to spend one-on-one time with you in forever. I figure if I can help you look this over while you eat and write those emails, then we could hang out and catch up afterwards.”

Tim puts down the pork bun and looks up at him, capturing him in a piercing gaze. His voice is neutral. "You know you don’t have to force yourself, right? You're hereby released from big brother duties for to me. I’m not that clingy little kid anymore, I promise. I won’t pitch a fit."

Tim’s looking at him, his baby brother who’s the smartest, most capable of them all, the one who outsmarted Ra’s Al Ghul. He sees the toddler who he’d held in his arms in a circus, the only good memory of the worst day of his life. The boy who’d figured out who Batman was at the ripe old age of _nine,_ and didn’t so much get adopted by Bruce as much as point at Bruce, Dick, Alfred and their broken family, and say: _They need me. I’m keeping them._ “Damian’s right. You’re so stupid, Tim.”

Tim does a double-take. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Dick says, scooting closer to Tim. “You’re dumb as a rock. Luckily for you, I love you anyway.”

“I…” Tim’s neutral expression slips to one of confusion. “Why?”

_“What?”_

“Why? After I let you down?” Tim looks down at his hands. For a small fraction of a second, the movement reveals the expression on his face before Tim’s hair hides it. Dick is left reeling at the brokenness.

“Tim, I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“You _needed_ me. You said I was your equal, and you asked me to stay and help, and I _left_ you. With Damian and the entire mess, all because my feelings were hurt. I should have stayed.”

“Tim, no.” Dick scrambles off of the sectional, _needing_ to touch him, to reassure Tim. He octopuses around Tim and presses his face against the sinuous curve of his neck, the hair tickling his nose. With his chest pressed against Tim’s back, Dick can feel the protruding bones of Tim’s spine. "I was never angry at you for that. Never. I never meant to hurt you."

"I'm sorry," Tim says. He feels brittle inside the cage of Dick's arms. "I'm sorry. I should have been better. You were stuck between a rock and a hard place."

Dick doesn’t know what to say. He knows that their relationship isn’t perfect, but weren’t they past this? He’ll never say this out loud because it sounds wrong, but he misses the easiness of their early relationship before they knew Damian existed and Jason had come back. For a moment, he sees that boy, the one who got away with jumping off rooftops with Batman on a nightly basis. The one who wasn’t technically an orphan yet, no parents to check up on him because they hadn't even been in the country for months. He sees that same boy, in a suit, asking Bruce if he had Valium. After all, his mom always made him take one before a fancy gala. Tim, who’d played beautifully at a school concert and later apologised to Bruce for missing a note — as if Bruce, or Dick or Alfred for the matter, had cared.

“Tim, I need you to listen to me, this is important, okay? Turn around and look at me." Dick loosens his hold on Tim and waits for him to turn around in his arms. When he does, he’s still looking down at his hands. Dick covers them with his own hands. Tim’s are smaller but lithe and graceful. A programmer's hands. A pianist's hands. "Look at me."

Tim obeys, his face blank.

Then Dick remembers that he doesn’t know what to say, so he just opens his mouth and hopes it doesn’t land him in hot water.

“I had a plan. I was going to sit you down, talk to you about moving on from Robin. But then I found Damian already packing up to go back to the League.” Dick sighs. “You remember what he was like then. It was the only way to make him stay. Then you showed up, and he was wearing the uniform like it already belonged to him. Everything went wrong.”

“You asked me to stay.” Tim’s hands are shaking in Dick's. He holds them tight until they still.

"Damian tried to kill you. Multiple times. Of course you didn't want him to be wearing your uniform. Or live in a house with him. I just..."

The way Dick sees it, he had had two choices: potentially hurt his little brother, or let Damian return to a life under Ra’s Al Ghul, one of violence and blood and death. Return to his mother, to the League and become the very thing Bruce wanted to stop. He knows in the end that it was the right decision, the only decision he could have made. That doesn’t change the image in Tim’s mind: an assassin who’d tried to murder him stealing his title and his costume, his very place in the Family. And his elder brother allowing it to happen.

"I have nightmares," Tim finally says, “about what could have happened if Dami had left Gotham.”

Of course Tim knows how to explain what Dick struggles to make sentences out of. Dicks nods in understanding. “I have those too. Mine usually have a zombie Bruce telling me I’ve failed.” Usually, as he’s holding what’s left of Tim’s broken and bloody body. The world goes out of focus. It feels as if his heart’s stopping as an old but vivid dream repaints a picture of bright red in the canvas in his mind.

“Dick, no.” Tim pulls his hands out of Dick’s death grip and brings it up to his cheeks, wiping the wetness away. “Don’t cry. You didn’t fail. You did the right thing. Dami needed Robin. Look at him now, he’s a way better Robin that I ever was. I should have been more supportive of you.”

“Tim, you were grieving.”

“So were you.” Tim begins to lower his hands, but Dick grasps them again, bringing them to his chest. 

“Yeah but you’d also just lost Kon, Steph and your dad,” Dick replies, frowning at the wince that quickly passes Tim’s face. “You were in pain, and you were just a kid, so stop blaming yourself.”

“You asked me to help you,” Tim says stubbornly. “You needed me to stay.”

“I broke your heart,” Dick counters, and Tim doesn’t argue. “Didn’t I?”

“You did.” Tim shrugs. “But it was the right thing to do. It’s what the Mission needed.”

“This is why I didn’t want to be Batman. Because nothing can come before the Mission to him,” Dick says, hot tears trailing down his cheeks. “Bruce has tunnel vision. I know Jay says he’s growing soft with age. Maybe he is. I don’t know. I know that there have been decisions that Bruce has made for the Mission that broke my heart. He knew they would, and he had to do it anyway. I guess he thought it would make me tougher. It did. But the price that I paid for it? I never wanted anyone to experience that, let alone you. I hate myself for doing that to you.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Dick.” Tim squeezes his hands. His eyes are angled at Dick’s face, but he’s far away. “It wasn’t a good time for me, and it was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. I’m pretty sure I was in the middle of a major depressive episode, but I didn’t want help. I thought, Batman needs Robin, so being Robin would fix everything. When you took it away, all I could think of was that I wasn’t good enough to be your Robin, to be your family.”

“That’s not true,” Dick denies vehemently. “Tim, you’re the very best of any of us, hands down. And even if you’ve outgrown Robin, you’re not outgrowing me. I love you, no matter what. I will _always_ love you, just the way you are. I’m so sorry I made you feel like I didn’t.”

Tim’s eyes fill with tears.

“Oh shit, Timmy no,” He wishes he could channel that love through his fingertips, over and underneath Tim’s skin and inside his rib cage, tattooing a steady reminder that he’s beloved. “Don’t cry. I love you.”

For the first time in a long while, Tim takes the initiative and leans forward, wraps his arms and legs around him, presses his face against Dick’s chest. Dick hugs him right back, breathes in the smell of coffee and the faint stink of cigarettes. He holds him as Tim breaks down into sobs that consume his entire body. He rubs Tim’s back and rocks him a little until Tim’s breathing evens out.

Before Tim can fall asleep in this uncomfortable position, Dick pushes Tim back gently, leaning his back against the coffee table. His face is all pink and blotchy from the tears. Dick pats them away gently with his sleeve, careful not to rub and irritate Tim’s sensitive skin. Then he reaches behind Tim for the glass of green tea and hands it to him. “Drink.”

Tim turns back to look at the tray. “No coffee?”

“No. You’re going to get dehydrated. Drink the whole glass.”

Dick waits until he’s finished and sets the glass down. “So, Timmy. When did you start smoking?”

“What? I didn’t!”

“Then why do you smell like cigarettes?”

Tim’s face, which had been losing the brightness, flushes again. “Uh… I dunno. I think the tank top is Jason’s.”

Fair enough. Damian’s been stealing his and Tim’s shirts who have in turn been nicking Bruce and Jason’s. It’s the brotherhood of travelling shirts. Except it doesn’t fit anyone right except for Bruce and Jason, who rarely share clothes in the first place. At this point, there is no embarrassment in it, but this is Tim, so Dick’s not surprised by the blushing.

Finally, Dick braces himself on Tim’s thighs and stands up. He holds out a hand to Tim, who takes it and uses it to pull himself off the ground with a wince.

“Okay, that’s it. Lie down on the sofa. On your stomach.”

“Dick, I don’t have _time_ ,” Tim whines. Dick, the wiser older brother that he is, ignores him and shoves him gently towards the sectional.

“Take your laptop, answer emails. But I’m giving you a back massage now.”

Tim takes his laptop, then lies down with the computer in front of him. He braces himself on his elbows and begins typing. Dick climbs on top of Tim, straddling his back. He splays his hands across Tim’s narrow hips, and begins circling his thumbs in Tim’s back dimples with increasing pressure.

They settle slowly into a rhythm. Tim goes through his inbox as Dick moves gradually up Tim’s tense and knotted back. Tim’s typing slows down at some point. Dick takes a moment to go over their conversation in the silence, making sure he didn’t miss any crucial points.

“Tim, drop your elbows for a minute,” Dick says as he moves, pressing his knees into the centre of his back. When Tim does, he holds him firmly by the shoulder. “Breathe out.”

Tim exhales, and Dick cracks his back. Tim breathes in and out again. Dick stays where he is for the moment, his weight keeping Tim’s body in place.

“In case I wasn’t clear enough earlier, you were an amazing Robin,” Dick tells him. “I was so proud of you. I’m pretty sure most of Damian’s initial animosity was because you were so good at what you did. And I don’t think it helped that Ra’s took an interest in you over his own grandson. Don’t tell him I said this because he’ll pout for a month, but he has a lot to learn before he’s got anything on you, Tim. And besides. He loves you now.” And Dick knows that the sentiment is reciprocated. “Do you remember that he stole a photograph from my room? It’s from his last birthday party, one where you’re smiling at him. He’ll never say it out loud, but Damian adores you.”

Dick moves his hands to Tim’s neck, running his hands up and into Tim’s scalp. “When I was your age, I was barely passing college and trying to learn to be Nightwing. And Jason, that boy looks at you like you hung the stars, why do you think he always brings you cases to work on? You know, Bruce once told me when you were fourteen that we would all end up working under you one day. Look at you now, CEO of WE. Babs loves you and your programming so much she wants to hire _and_ adopt you. I’ve heard Cass threaten those scary gossipy ladies at galas with calling you. I don’t think I need to say much about Steph, course she loves you. God, I wish you could see how absolutely in awe of you we are. How proud we are.”

“Dick,” Tim hisses. The skin on his neck is turning warm and red. “Are you seriously going to compliment roast me while holding me down?”

“Nope. I’m going to ask you when you and Steph got back together.”

Tim twitches. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well, seeing as you haven’t left the house, I can’t think of who else you could be necking with,” Dick says and presses his thumb against the hickey. “Know what I mean?”

Tim stills before blurting out. “It’s Jason.”

Now it’s Dick’s turn to freeze. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Jason gave me that. Don’t be mad.”

Dick tenses. “This isn’t quarantine-driven sex with no strings attached, is it?”

Tim shakes his head. “No, no, nothing like that. I... we love each other. Please don’t be mad.”

Dick sighs in relief and finally gets up off the couch. He goes to the head of the furniture, moves the laptop away to sit in its place and looks down at Tim. “Are you two happy?”

“Yeah.”

“Then, I’m not mad.” It should probably be weird, because to Dick, they both fall within the category of baby brother, but Dick’s known that Jason’s head-over-heels, insanely and utterly, in love with Tim, at least for the last year. He hasn’t needed Jason to tell him that because it’s constantly all over his face. If anything, he’s just glad that Tim can return those feelings, and wipe that look of longing on Jason’s face for good. “As long as you’re both happy, that’s enough for me. Now, get your phone out and answer your emails from there, I need the laptop for your essay.”

“There’s another computer on B’s desk.”

“Too far.”

“Lazy,” Tim says, but nevertheless pulls out his phone. “Hey Dick?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell the others. Yet.”

“Of course,” Dick says. “I got you, baby bird.”

When Alfred comes up to take the plates down, he finds Tim curled up and asleep, his head touching the side of Dick’s thigh, right next to the laptop where Dick is proof-reading away. Tim’s a lot of things, but a good speller is not one of them. “Are you two alright?” Alfred asks, a knowing look in his eyes.

Dick looks down at Tim, the boy who never sleeps, snoring away beside him. “We will be,” he says. And he believes it this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, apologies, this wait was longer than the usual. It took me a while to get this chapter where I wanted it to be, and my poor lovely beta Rachel had to look it over twice. So I really really hope you like it. Hope you're all staying safe out there.


	10. Tim and Jason, and then everyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason has a nightmare, Tim is a good boyfriend, and a not-so-secret secret is revealed.

The pouring rain outside isn’t loud enough to muffle the sounds of Tim gasping to catch his breath, the aftermath of his pleasure splattered over Jason’s abdomen. His boyfriend is sprawled on the bed beneath him, Tim straddling his waist. His eyes are closed and his mouth shut as he comes down from the highest of highs. His left hand is still pressing a bruise into Tim’s hip even as his right-hand remains loosely wrapped around their cocks.

There isn’t enough of Jason’s skin against his own for Tim’s satisfaction, so presses himself down until they’re chest to chest, Tim’s hands moving assuredly up Jason’s biceps. He doesn’t allow himself this weakness with others, this need to touch that was trained out of him before his age ever hit the double digits. With Jason, however, it feels natural. Not awkward, just comfortable. He likes being allowed to touch, to breathe in the smell of a post-coital Jason and lick the salt off of his upper lip.

Jason kisses Tim back languidly like he has all the time in the world and not like they’ve been running short on time for weeks now. How it’s even harder now that Cass is home and patrols are shorter than ever.

Jason says something, but Tim’s hearing isn’t fully functioning yet — his head still in that place where everything is fuzzy and comfortable. Tim presses a kiss against Jason’s neck and hums, lets himself appreciate the feeling of belonging that only comes in these quiet moments with Jason. Of course, the sex is excellent, it’s the best sex he’s ever had, but these moments are so much more valuable to him. It feels like those rare weekends when his mother would take him to art galleries and hold his hand, explaining the history and the context of each collection of brush strokes. It’s like that time Bruce remembered his birthday after forgetting it twice in a row. It’s the sting of every bite or bruise that he begs Jason for, and the remembrance of it for days to come.

“Tim, you’re falling asleep,” Jason whispers, popping the last letter out of his mouth and into the kiss that he gifts the tip of his ear. “We’ll wake up stuck together _._ ”

“That could be fun,” he mumbles.

“I don’t think so,” Jason huffs. The sound reverberates from his chest to Tim’s ear. Jason moves gently, wrapping his arms around Tim and sitting up. “They’ll be home soon. Let’s at least clean up a bit.”

“And you’ll come back to bed with me afterwards?” Tim asks, brings his hands up to cup Jason’s face. Jason rolls his eyes and settles his eyes on Tim.

“What happens when the bat brat shows up?” Jason retorts, but there’s no heat in the words, only in the arms that lift him and carry him into the bathroom.

“Oh please, he’s forgotten all about hounding me since Dick came home again. And Alfred told him I gained a kilogram, so he’s taking it easy these days.”

Jason smiles as he enters the walk-in shower. “Are you letting yourself go now that you have a live-in boyfriend, Timothy?”

Tim swiftly kicks Jason in the hip with his heel. In retaliation, Jason shoves him into the shower and turns on the cold water. “Jason!”

Tim grabs him and pulls him close, but this is the manor and not one of Jason’s shitty safe houses, so the water’s warm already. Jason’s still grinning when he presses Tim up against the cold tiles and kisses him soundly, gleefully, and drops to his knees.

Afterwards, when Jason’s brushing his teeth and Tim’s applying an acne patch to his chin, he watches Jason with no small amount of envy. Tim has a 10-step skincare routine and still breaks out all the time, Jason splashes some body wash on his face, and he's practically got glass skin.

(Okay so it doesn't help that Tim only washes his face before and after bed, and bedtimes occur only about half as frequently for him as they do for most people. He can still be bitter about it.)

The rain’s picked up in the time they’d drowned it out with the sound of the shower. It patters against the windows. Tim used to find it a soothing sound. These days, it puts him right on edge.

Lightning strikes and Tim catches the small twitch in Jason's wrist as he brushes his teeth, boxers riding low on his hip. Jason spits out the toothpaste and rinses out his mouth and the toothbrush. Lightning strikes again, closer to the house this time. Jason noticeably twitches. And maybe it’s the afterglow, or maybe Tim’s just lucky today because Jason allows him to tug him into the bedroom. He pulls the covers off and nods for Jason to lie down. Jason complies, waiting silently as Tim pulls on a pair of sweatpants over his boxer-briefs. Tim turns the lights off before crawling into bed, star-fishing right on top of Jason, basking in the warmth of Jason’s bare chest.

When Jason finally sighs and opens his mouth to speak, Tim silences him with a deep, chaste kiss. “Don’t argue with me. I still have the graphs from the last time we argued about this, and I’m not afraid to use them against you. Again.”

“Tim, are you threatening me with statistics?”

“You sleep better when I’m here, and the time-series data show that the positive correlation has been growing stronger with the increasing length of our relationship—"

“Oh God, I surrender, please stop.”

“My math is never wrong.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“I was right about you, wasn’t I?”

He definitely has his “On the effects of Red Robin disturbance on the Red Hood: observational evidence for a romantic approach” PowerPoint presentation on a flash drive — far away from any shared server with Bruce. The day that Tim had given that presentation to Jason had been their first kiss and first date. He’d spent weeks collecting, tidying and analysing that dataset. His words might not win people over, but his math tends to.

(He has graphs for that too.)

Tim can feel the smile on Jason’s lips as they press against his own. It’s far more familiar than that first kiss. The intensity is somehow more. 

Rain falls. But as he trades breaths with Jason, the thunder, and their consciousness, slowly fade away.

-

Tim wakes up as his forehead explodes in pain, and the force that pushed him into the edge of the night table sends him crashing into the hardwood floor. He’s not expecting it, and he’s slightly out of practice, but Tim is self-aware enough to shut his left eye before the blood from his forehead trickles down into it.

Light.

They need light. Tim tries to stand, but his balance feels off. Before he can make it to the light switch, the room is flooded with light, and Tim looks up to finds a sleep-soft Damian holding Dick’s hand. Dick looks at them with concern and bewilderment on his face, his other hand on the light switch. Damian is the first to speak. “Timothy, you’re bleeding.”

“Dami, get the first aid kit,” Dick orders, and Damian runs off immediately. Even with the blinding pain on the side of his head, Tim can see Dick analyse the situation, the closed windows, the blood staining the beech bedside table. Jason, curling himself up into a small shape despite his huge frame, the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes. Tim turns to get closer but is held back by Dick’s hand on his forearm. “Get behind me.”

“Let. Go.” Tim twists his way out of the hold and turns back towards the bed. “Jason. Jason, tell me where you are.”

Jason moves a hand to cover his mouth, using the other one to now cover both his eyes. “Dirt.”

“No,” Tim can’t keep his voice from cracking. Jason has many demons, but this is the one Tim hates the most. “Jay. Jason, you’re in the Wayne Manor. You’re safe.”

“Buried,” Jason mumbles, eyes shut. “Joker.”

“No, you’re not buried—the Joker’s in Arkham. You’re _safe._ You’re in my bedroom. In the manor.” Tim keeps his voice even and calm. He continues to take wobbly steps towards the bed even as the world begins bending around the edges of his vision. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers the smell of Dick’s body wash on the bundle of fabric that Dick presses against his head. He records Damian running back into the room, the sound of the kit being unzipped on his desk.

“Who’re you?”

“I’m Tim,” he says as he reaches the bed. He doesn’t dare touch Jason just yet, but he sits on the edge as his vision goes blurry again. “Tim Drake.”

“Who?”

“Why don’t you open your eyes and find out?”

A beat, and then Jason obeys, seafoam-green eyes taking Tim in. “Remember me yet?”

“Replacement,” he says hoarsely.

Tim smiles. “That’s me.” He holds out his arms, waiting for Jason to come to him. Dick knows already, and Damian’s not an idiot; if he hasn’t already, he’ll figure it out. But Jason flinches and scoots away from Tim on the bed, his eyes focusing on Tim’s forehead.

“Oh God,” he sobs. “No. _No._ ”

Stupid. Stupid. _Stupid._

No, now is not the time to berate himself for being a shitty boyfriend. Now’s the time to be better.

“I’m fine. I didn’t even throw up, it’s all superficial,” Tim says, keeping his voice even and soft. Jason is an arm’s width away from home. Tim can’t reach towards him though, because he’ll flinch; he’ll run. Tim knows it. “You know head wounds bleed too m—”

“What is going on here?” Bruce interrupts him from the door. “Tim, are you injured?”

Bruce’s voice galvanises Jason: he flinches, as if he’s been whipped, and then scrambles out of bed. “Jason, no, _wait_!”

But Jason doesn’t wait, he bolts into the bathroom and out of the adjoining room, avoiding Bruce altogether. Tim takes a wobbly step in Jason’s direction.

“Tim.”

It must be the head injury, his body reacts before his brain can catch up. Tim turns around, the obedient soldier, to find a shower-damp Bruce in sweats and a shirt, still sporting cowl hair. He must have just come up from writing the night’s report. In a few full strides, Bruce is in front of Tim, holding him up and Tim’s legs finally give way.

“Please,” Tim begs. For Jason, he’ll beg and get on his knees if he has to. “ _Please_ bring him back. He’ll have a dissociative event if he goes outside in the storm. _Please._ You can’t let him drive.”

Bruce contemplates for a fraction of a second. “Dick, with me. Damian, patch Tim up. We’ll send Alfred your way so he can check Tim for a concussion.”

“Yes, Father.”

Dick takes off after Jason and Bruce hands Tim off to Damian. “I’m sorry,” Tim chokes out. He knows he’s been a disappointment again. Dating within the Family is dangerous. Dating Jason, who not only broke Bruce’s heart when he died but carries around the biggest shard of it, is unthinkable. “ _Please._ ”

Bruce looks at him for one terse moment, then nods. “I’ll make this okay. I promise.”

Then it’s just Tim and Damian. Tim doesn’t know what to expect from Damian. He doesn’t know how much time passes but at some point his eyes refocus and he finds a bloody t-shirt on the ground. Damian is applying wound closure strips to the skin above his left eye, his own face blank of even the angry scowl it’s most used to wearing. 

Tim realises with fresh annoyance that he doesn’t know how long he’s been here with Damian. “How long have we been waiting?”

Whatever Damian’s answer will be is likely too long. He needs to move _now._ He pushes Damian out of the way and stands up, far too quickly. It makes him dizzy again. “What is _wrong_ with you?” Damian snaps. Tim’s legs fail him, but Damian’s hold prevents him from hitting the ground. Tim dry heaves, eyes watering with the motion. Now would be the perfect time for the brat to say something along the lines of, “Pathetic,” or curse him in Arabic, but he doesn’t. He simply shoves Tim back to the bed and sits him down.

“And what do we have here at two in the morning?”

Alfred’s in his nightgown and cap, peering at them with bleary eyes. “Did you two get into a fight again? Honestly, I thought we were growing past this, Masters.”

“I had no part in this!” Damian snaps, fury evident in his voice. “Todd came into Timothy’s room and hurt him while he was asleep. He’s showing signs of a concussion. Attend to him immediately.”

Alfred expression doesn’t change as he comes closer to place a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “I apologise, young master. Why don’t we move downstairs, and I can see to Master Timothy. Where is Master Jason now?”

“ _Master_ Jason? As if he deserves such respect. The man is an unstable rogue. Father and Grayson are attempting to subdue him,” Damian replies, anger evident in his voice. Tim’s shocked to realise that he’s close enough to Damian to also recognise the confusion and pain in it. Even if Damian is loath to admit it, Jason is his Family. Jason is the man who’d showed Damian how to grow saplings from cuttings and how to braid bread dough.

Damian needs to understand that that brother isn’t lost to him.

“It was an accident,” Tim replies. “Jason wasn’t trying to hurt me, he was having a nightmare, and he pushed me off of him. I hit the bedside table.”

“Then explain the nail marks on your shoulders, and the bruise marks on your hips that match his fingers?” Damian snaps, not so gently slapping a bandage over the closure strips.

It’s a good thing that Tim’s grown immune to Damian’s attempts at embarrassing him because he’s not sure his body can take any more blood rushing to his face. “That was unconnected.”

Damian presses an unforgiving finger against a glaring love bite on his neck. “Did you two have _intercourse_?”

“What are you, a P.E. teacher? Who says intercourse?”

“ _Did you?”_

Tim nods, throwing his arm around Damian’s shoulder to pull himself up. 

“But you’re brothers!”

“Look, between him attempting to murder me a couple of times and learning to deal with his anger in a healthy way, we didn’t end up developing a brotherly relationship,” Tim finally snaps. He doesn’t have the time for this. “It’s not like he ever treated me like a brother, so why would I treat him like one? Why is this news to you? So can we do something more important like find out where the others went?”

Something in Damian’s demeanour changes. It goes from oddly gentle to spikey sharp. “Do as you wish,” he snaps. He shoves Tim back in the bed and stomps away. Then it’s just Tim and Alfred, who’s giving him an even look. 

“You don’t look surprised.”

“Oh, I was under the impression you wanted me to know, considering the number of times I found Master Jason ignoring a hot stove so he could shower you with his affections. I’m aware of what happens in my kitchen, Master Timothy.” Alfred holds out a hand for Tim to hold. “Come on, off to the Cave. We may find the others there.”

-

Tim lets Alfred help him down the stairs. “I got it from here, Alfred, thank you.” Tim pulls away, gives himself a moment to regain his own balance and gingerly walks to Dick, who’s leaning against a desk. Cass is nearly blending into the shadows near the T-rex. Alfred’s oxfords make a nice sharp sound on the stairs as they follow Tim down.

Before he can reach Dick, Cass swoops down, walks over to Tim and examines his forehead. “ _Dìdì_ , okay?”

“Tim, how’s your head?” Dick asks.

“I’m fine,” Tim replies. “Where is he?”

Dick nods his head towards Isolation A. Tim sees red. “You put him in _isolation_? He’s reliving a traumatic experience, what is _wrong—”_

“Woah, cool it! It wasn’t me, he put himself in there.” Dick puts his hands up in front of him. Cass’ strong grip about his wrists steadies him. “Bruce has been trying to talk to him.”

The Cave is soundproof, so the sounds of the storm outside should not come through. However, Jason saw Tim get hurt, which, on most days, is his biggest trigger. “He didn’t try to leave?”

“He did. Changed his mind,” Cass supplies, shaking out her fist. Tim winces. That’s going to leave a mark on Jason.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he finally tells Dick, because Dick deserves better than to be his punching bag just because Tim is scared and hurting. Dick shakes his head and pats Tim’s shoulder in forgiveness. Tim lets him for a moment, allows Dick to have the touch he needs and then walks towards Isolation A. The glass walls are frosted, so one can’t see inside, but the door is slightly open.

“Will you fucking leave me alone and go check up on the Replacement instead?”

“Tim’s fine. He was coherent, and Damian’s with him. Let me worry about you instead.”

“Fuck off.”

“He’s right,” Tim says and pushes the door open. “I’m fine. I got purple _Steri-Strips_ and everything.”

Jason’s sitting on the bed, his entire side pressed up against the wall. Bruce sits beside him, one hand resting on the bed between their thighs as if he’s waiting for Jason to inch closer and let Bruce touch. Jason looks up at Tim, a moment of unbearable vulnerability flashing across his face before it hardens into a frown. “Get out.”

Tim ignores him. “Bruce, I need to speak to Jason alone.”

Bruce doesn’t look away from Jason. “Are you concussed?”

“Don’t think so. Can you leave the room, please?” He doesn’t have the energy or the time to figure out the right words, he needs to save those for Jason.

“Can you both get the fuck out of here?” Jason snaps, still glaring at Tim.

Tim takes the few steps forward that bring him to Bruce, who finally stands up and looks at him. More accurately, he peers into his eyes. “Your gait is abnormal.”

“Yeah, I’m walking funny from the sex that Jason and I were having earlier, not this.”

It finally makes Jason’s expression change from the frown to shock. “Tim!”

“What? Dami already guessed; did you think Bruce wouldn’t?” Tim retorts, surprising himself with how even and unaffected his voice sounds. “B, I’m sure you have many strong opinions and comments about this turn of events and our relationship. Can we leave them until tomorrow?”

Bruce looks at him, then at Jason, and back. “Okay,” he finally says. “Call me if you need anything, both of you.”

Tim nods his thanks and waits for Bruce to leave and shut the door behind him. Finally, Tim moves forward, taking Bruce’s place on the bed. “What part of leave don’t you understand?” Jason snaps again.

Tim ignores the comment. “Where did Cass punch you? Solar plexus?” He carefully reaches for Jason’s hand. Jason’s not facing him, but even from the corner of his eye, the movement is apparent.

“Tim, _please._ You shouldn’t be here.” Jason’s begging him, but this isn’t something Tim can accept. He can’t ignore someone in pain, that’s not the kind of Robin he is. He definitely can’t ignore Jason in pain, that’s not the kind of boyfriend he is.

“No.” Tim gently touches the back of Jason’s hand and is punished with a heart-rendering flinch from Jason. He pulls away and sets his hand down on the bed, much like Bruce did earlier.

“I hurt you.”

“Not on purpose.”

“Not this time.”

Tim sighs. “Jason, we’ve talked about this. God, we talked about this years ago, don’t you remember? I never held you accountable for that.”

He’d been sixteen and heart-eyed and so young and stupid, but Tim Drake’s stupidest is still pretty fucking smart. He wasn’t wrong back then, and he’s gained far more knowledge and experience since then to be wrong now.

“We had waffles,” Jason says.

“Yeah, we did. I didn’t blame you then, and I don’t blame you now.” Tim pulls his feet up on the bed, tucks them under his thighs and brings himself slightly closer. “Sweetheart, I’m alright. I promise. I made this choice, and I’m not backing out.”

“No matter how many scars I give you?” Jason’s voice breaks on the last word, as he reaches up to ghost his fingers over the _Steri-Strips_ on Tim’s forehead.

“Jay, you know I’ve got that marking kink,” Tim teases, leaning into Jason’s fingers. It stings a bit, but that’s not important. What’s important is that Jason is willing to touch him again.

“This is _not_ the same as a hickey or some bruising,” Jason says, voice breaking again. Tim knows that. He knows it’s probably fucked up that he likes the permanent marks of Jason on his skin, showing off the effect that Jason has on his heart. It’s a risk he really shouldn’t be taking as Red Robin, but it’s a sacrifice he’s more than willing to make.

“I like them. They remind me that you love me enough to let me be there for you. They tell me that you’re mine.”

There’s silence. Something in Jason finally settles.

“And everyone else.” Jason sighs. “You just told Bruce we’re sleeping together. He’s going to kill me.”

“Jay, he was going to figure it out at some point.”

“I can’t do this while stuck in the house with him.”

“Then, we move back. His biggest worry was that I was alone. Now he knows I won’t be.”

“Maybe that’s not a good idea.”

“Oh come on, what’s he going to do? Keep us here by force? We’re not kids, and he can’t tell us not to date, even if he thinks it’s bad for the Mission, which, it isn’t. Our closing rate’s significantly higher than before, the p-value was less than 0.005. I haven’t understood the mechanisms, but once I do, Gotham rogues better run.”

Jason shakes his head and brings his hand back down. “Tim, don’t you see? He doesn’t care who I date as long as it’s not you.”

This is a new angle to an age-old argument.

“Explain.”

“You’re like the nice china that Al only brings out for Christmas. Except Bruce just realised that I stole it, and chipped it. Maybe it’s time I give it back before I shatter all the pieces.”

And there goes any hope for an interesting debate. Tim sighs, placing his fingers over the back of Jason’s hand. “I keep telling you to read more non-fiction. You’ve been reading too many young adult novels, or something, that was the most flowery piece of nonsense I have heard since you read Pride and Prejudice to me.”

“Tim, be serious.”

“Okay, fine. Here’s me being serious. Jason Peter Todd, don’t ever come at me with that analogy again because I am not a thing and I do not belong to Bruce.”

Jason looks away, visibly ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s forgiven,” he responds. “Stay here tonight; the walls are soundproofed. Alfred wants to run some tests on me. Why don’t you lie down and try to rest?”

“I’m not going to sleep.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I said rest, leave the light on even. I’m going to tell the others to head up.”

“You should too.” Tim raises an eyebrow then winces at the pain. Jason scoffs at him. The expression softens as Tim leans in to press his lips against Jason’s forehead and walks out of the room. He gently shuts the door behind him, so he’ll hear it being opened, just in case. To be completely safe, he switches the smart glass from frosted to transparent, to which Jason throws up a middle finger. He exits the hallway and finds Alfred waiting for him with a steeping teapot in a tray and a pair of old, well-worn books.

“I sent the others off to bed. Do you think Master Jason would mind if I went in to set this down?” Alfred asks. “I picked up some old favourites from his room.”

Something in Tim softens at Alfred’s attentive care of Jason. “Not at all, Alfred. I think he’d be very thankful.”

“Good,” Alfred replies. “Don’t you be going anywhere, I haven’t forgotten the potentially dreadful head trauma you might be suffering from.”

“I didn’t even get to punch a bad guy for it,” Tim jokes.

“What a shame,” Alfred says drily as he opens the door to the isolation room.

Tim turns around to give them privacy, walking towards the medical bed and itching for his phone. Alfred returns about fifteen minutes later, eyes red but not teary. When Tim glances at Jason through the glass, he’s taking a sip of his tea, shoulders no longer tense and Charlotte Bronte open in his lap. “Hey Al?”

“Yes, Master Timothy?” Alfred replies as he turns on the C.T. scanner and brings it up and working.

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For being you, I guess,” Tim replies.

“Well, I can hardly be anyone else, my dear boy.”

The silence is comfortable as Alfred checks him over. “You may have a mild concussion, Master Timothy. However, seeing as you’ve no trouble walking, aren’t vomiting and are perfectly capable of holding a lucid conversation, I have nothing but my usually ignored advice for you: go to sleep.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m oversleeping since everyone keeps dragging me to bed,” Tim replies. “Maybe if I sleep for the next 20 hours, I can stay awake all week.”

Alfred sighs. “I can’t believe I have to tell an Ivy-accepted student this, but: that is not how the human body works. Go to sleep.”

Alfred leaves him in the Cave with a fresh t-shirt and an overwhelming amount of side-eye. He thinks about checking up on Jason, but in these situations, it’s easier to let Jason come to him. Tim sets himself up at a work table with a side-angle to Jason’s room and considers the current status of his future brainchild. Between Wayne Enterprises, university, and the Arkham cybersecurity project he’s been working on with Babs, he hasn’t had the time to work on his various pet projects. This one, for example, is a subdermal microchip that monitors sleep patterns and relays the data to a nearby alarm, prompting the wearer to wake up.

He’s still in the development stage, but given enough time and energy, he’ll be able to wake Jason up before he ever has a nightmare in the first place. He knows Apple has an app on their watch that hasn’t been approved by the FDA public use yet. Even if he can quickly build such an app for WayneTech smartwatches, he wants to go smaller with Jason. A subdermal implant would also be much more convenient to take with him during missions than a clunky watch. And if this one happens to have a GPS, well, Jason’s the one who called him a stalker, so he’d had more than enough warning. 

“Tim?”

Speak of the devil, and he’ll leave his isolation room. “Hey.”

“No concussion?”

“Nope. I’m fine.”

“You didn’t move your eyes for over two minutes.”

“I was sciencing!”

“Sure you were,” Jason says, eyes fixed on the empty mug with the batman symbol.

“It’s going to be okay, Jason,” Tim tells him because apparently, actions aren’t enough.

“Course it is, Alfie’s on our side.”

Tim rolls his eyes.

“Are you working on the nightmare tracker again?” Jason changes the subject, coming closer to examine the 3D rendering of his current model.

“Seemed like the perfect time for it.”

“Need a lab rat?”

Tim looks up at Jason. “Depends. I have very high expectations. All my lab rats have to have prior experience as street rats.”

Jason shakes his head and then gives him a small, indulgent smile. “What a coincidence. I may have some prior work experience in that very field.”

“Lucky me,” Tim murmurs, turning on the holographic interface on the desk. “Put that experience to use and brew me some good coffee.”

“Yes, boss.” Jason leans in through the hologram and kisses Tim on the mouth. It’s a bittersweet kiss, like rich, dark chocolate. Tim smiles into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I am so sorry for the wait between these chapters! Work has been incredibly stressful lately because I am in the final stages of preparing a manuscript for submission to a journal. However, I got some amazing news, my PhD project was approved for funding so guess who's going to be able to keep sciencing? Me! 
> 
> You may also have noticed that I've changed the chapter count - and I have a more concrete outline that I did when I started, so hopefully you won't have such long waits anymore. Thanks for bearing with me and for the lovely comments, you really keep me going! 
> 
> Dìdì: Mandarin for little brother.


	11. Dick and Bruce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dick inadvertently becomes the co-parent of his weird dysfunctional and beautiful family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you clicked onto the chapter directly, check out chapter 1 again, I added a mood board! Also I swear this was meant to be a JayTim-focused fic but I keep writing Dick-POV chapters, they're just fun to write and I guess it's because we both have eldest sibling energy, haha.

Dick is on his way out of the Cave with Cass and Bruce in tow, Jason’s pained expression still fresh in his mind. He nods at Bruce, kisses Cass on the forehead, and makes his way silently to his room. That’s where he finds Damian, sitting on the edge of his bed, hands in his lap.

Usually, when Damian shows up in his bedroom, it’s because he wants affection from Dick and doesn’t know how to ask for it. If he’d wanted to stay here, he’d have climbed under the covers and pretended to be asleep by now. But he hasn’t.

Because sometimes, Damian wants affection from Bruce and doesn’t think he’s allowed to ask for it.

Instinctively, Dick gathers Damian up in his arms — the lack of argument already cause for concern — and takes him straight to Bruce’s room, where he finds his mentor sitting in his recliner, hands steepled in front of his face. It’s easy enough to dump Damian unceremoniously into his lap. His baby brother remains silent, curling into his father’s chest.

“I’ll be in my room if you need me,” Dick says, turning around to leave the two of them to it. This room has always meant safety and warmth. It also has the unfortunate side effect of making him feel like a child. Dick has paid in blood, sweat and tears to escape the shadow of Batman, to become Nightwing. Yet as he stares at the familiar objects in this room — the painting that Selina once tried to steal, Thomas Wayne’s old automatic watch on the bedside table that Jason fixed for Bruce — he’s back to being the helpless child fighting the nightmares of his parents’ deaths, shaking in his guardian’s arm as he’s rocked to sleep.

At the same time, he feels sore, as if someone had landed a punch right on top of a still-healing bruise. Instead of _him_ , it’s Damian in Bruce’s arms. Instead of _his_ arms, it’s Bruce’s that Damian is in. He doesn’t know if this is jealousy or longing. He doesn’t know who it’s for.

“Father, may he stay?” Damian asks, finally speaking. 

“If he’d like to,” Bruce replies. 

“Richard.” Dick turns back around slowly, facing Damian. It’s not the use of his given name or the tone of voice, but the look on Damian’s face that worries him. For once, he actually looks his age, like a boy who wants to be comforted. It’s too late to ask Damian what’s wrong. That can wait until tomorrow. For now, Dick will stay, of course he will. He’ll do what’s needed.

Dick climbs into the side of the bed closest to the door, lying on his back, one arm bent under his neck and at his side. Bruce stands up, taking Damian with him, and deposits him in the middle of the bed. Damian immediately turns to his side so he can face Dick, and wraps both arms around Dick’s arm. Bruce turns the lights off; a moment later, the mattress shifts. Bruce turns to his side, and rests one hand over Damian’s head, running his fingers through his hair.

Damian falls asleep within the hour. Both Bruce and Dick stay awake for a long time after that.

-

Dick wakes up. For a fraction of a second, he’s nine again and snuggled in Bruce’s bed after a particularly scary nightmare. Under these covers, he doesn’t have to be brave or independent. He can just let Bruce run his fingers through his hair until his rampant heartbeat slows down again. Then there’s the tickle of soft hair under his chin, and memories of the previous night return.

Dick sighs. He’s lying on his side, Damian’s head tucked underneath his chin, his hands clinging to his father’s silk pyjama shirt. Sometime during the night, Bruce had extended his embrace from Damian to both of them, his hand a comforting, heavy weight on Dick’s arm. He doesn’t want to move, but he needs to check on his other brothers. Dick attempts to slide out from under Bruce’s hand without waking him, but it’s a lost cause. Bruce’s eyes startle open, his body tenses, ready to jump out of bed and probably check up on Tim and Jason. “Wait, you’ll wake up Damian.”

“I need to see to Tim and Jason.”

Goddamn, Dick knows Bruce well. “Look, I know their relationship can come as a shock. I only found out a week ago. I didn’t even know Tim swung that way. But they’re happy with each other. So if you can’t accept this, then just say nothing, don’t ruin this for them.”

“It wasn’t a shock. I’ve known for months.”

That leaves Dick taken aback. If Bruce had known all this time and hadn’t said anything to put a quick stop to it, then at least it’s clear that Bruce has nothing against the relationship. Which comes as a surprise, to be honest. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was waiting for them to come out in their own time.”

“Do you think anyone in this Family is capable of being open and forthright? Especially when they’re already expecting disapproval from you?” Dick winces before he finishes the sentence. “Sorry, I mean…”

Bruce huffs — just the way Damian does when he’s searching for the right words — and loosens his grip on Dick’s bicep. “It’s alright. I suppose I’ve never given you a reason to believe otherwise.”

Dick doesn’t reply to that. He’s spent too much of his life wanting Bruce’s attention and approval and failing to get it to disagree. “Stay with Damian, okay? I’ll check on Tim and Jason, and we can all have breakfast together and talk then.”

“Fine,” Bruce replies. Dick takes a deep breath before untangling himself from the bedsheets. He grabs Bruce’s bathrobe and throws it over his shoulders before heading for the door. Before he leaves, he turns back to see Bruce. His eyes are fixated on Dick.

They’ve known each other for nearly two decades. Dick remembers the Bruce who read him bedtime stories and helped him with his chemistry homework. He remembers the Bruce who fired him, the Bruce who didn’t think Dick needed to know that his brother was dead. But he also remembers the Bruce who’d picked up a tired Stephanie and carried her to bed after her final mid-term last week, and sneaked into his Blüdhaven apartment two weeks ago to check up on a not-quite-asleep Dick in the middle of the night, only to tuck him in better and press a kiss to his forehead.

Bruce loves Dick, he loves his family, deeply. He’s just hilariously bad at expressing it. 

Dick graces him with a wistful smile. “I know you’re trying to be a better father, Bruce. Jay and Tim know that too.”

Bruce nods and fixes his gaze on Damian instead.

The house is nearly silent on the way down to the Cave, though he can hear the faint whistling of a teapot coming from the direction of the kitchen. Alfred must be getting breakfast ready. As Dick springs down the stairs from the entrance to the grandfather clock, he finds Tim working at the holographic work table. Jason is sprawled on the workbench across from Tim. He tenses at the interruption but doesn’t turn around.

Dick makes his way to him and throws his arms around him, pressing the side of his face against Jason’s neck. “Hey Little Wing, you feeling better?”

“I’m fine.” Jason doesn’t so much as relax as just get less tense. He looks better, though. Dick presses a kiss to the back of his head and Jason grunts. “Get off of me.”

Tim grins at Jason. “And you thought he was going to start digging you a second grave.”

“Tim!” Dick screeches. _Oh God, they’re perfect for each other._

“If he’s allowed to make death jokes about himself, then so am I,” Tim replies. Jason’s actually starting to get uncomfortable in Dick’s embrace. So Dick squeezes him tightly and quickly lets go, climbing over the table and through the holographic interface to come to sit in front of Tim. The latter fixes him with an unamused stare. Dick pushes Tim’s wayward strands out of the way and stares at his wound. It’s covered in purple _Steri-Strips,_ but the plaster cover isn’t at all bloody _._ More importantly, his pupils don’t look dilated. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

Dick purses his lips. “Forgive me if I don’t want to take your words at face value. The last time you said you were fine, it turned out you had a broken leg.”

“You had a broken leg?” Jason asks. “ _When?”_

“It was a hairline fracture, and it happened _last year._ It healed while you were away on a mission, Jay. It’s seriously fine now.” Tim’s glare is scarier than an angry Bruce’s. No wonder Ra’s has that creepy crush on him. “Dick, you snitch.”

“What are you going to do, give me stitches?” Dick teases and leans forward to kiss Tim wetly on the nose.

“Aww, eww. Morning breath, come on,” Tim wipes his nose with his hand and rubs it on Dick’s chest. Dick laughs and kicks Tim’s office chair away. As Tim rolls back on his chair, Dick stands up in its place.

“Come on, breakfast time. I believe some of our family members are looking for an explanation.”

Tim stands up, walking around the table to wrap a hand around Jason’s wrist and gaze up at him. “How about it?”

“Only if you _don’t_ use your PowerPoint presentation,” Jason retorts.

“But—”

Dick laughs. Tim really is a mini-Bruce. “You know if you give us a presentation in the study, we’re all going to be re-experiencing the trauma of Bruce’s sex-ed PowerPoint, right?”

Tim and Jason wince at the same time. “Okay fine, but I’ve saved it on the shared file server, and rest assured, I _will_ set it up if things go south.”

“Some days, I ask myself why I put up with you, Replacement.” Jason shakes his head.

“I can think of a few reasons,” Tim smirks and leans forward to kiss Jason on the mouth. It’s cute. And then it quickly turns gross.

“Hey! Big brother present! No kisses longer than three seconds!” If he has to follow that rule with his girlfriends, then they do too.

The little shits just grin at him before following him up the stairs.

-

The breakfast table is being set by Steph and Cass when they arrive. Cass sets down the bowls and walks over to plant kisses on all three of their cheeks. “Morning.”

She plants her feet in front of Jason last, pulling him close to her. Dick and Tim wisely walk away to help Steph, who hands them cloth napkins. “Cass told me all about the drama last night. How’s your head, Timmy?”

“I’m scarred for life, I’ll never find a husband. I’ll have to become a spinster,” Tim says flatly.

“Well, at least you’d be financially independent,” Steph points out gleefully.

“I’m already financially independent,” Tim retorts.

Dick smiles proudly at their quipping. True Robins, the lot of them. “Fair enough, but you’ll know how to spin. And I know this is hard to believe, but I have a ruggedly handsome brother who enjoys knitting and could use some nice yarn.”

Tim and Steph follow Dick’s eyes to where Cass has her hands pressed against Jason’s face. Little Wing graces her with a small smile and brings her close for a quick hug. They pull apart as Alfred walks in with a basket of freshly baked scones.

“Good morning, everyone. Misses Cassandra and Stephanie, please sit down. You’ve done more than enough. Masters Tim and Jason, are you feeling better?” They both nod, a soft smile on their faces. “Master Tim, would it be too outrageous to assume that you slept last night?”

Tim shrugs sheepishly. “Sorry, Alfred.”

“You’re undoubtedly not, but it’s forgiven anyway. I’ll bring you all coffee shortly. Master Richard, please collect Master Damian, he’s taking his time with the hens today.”

“Sure thing, Al,” Dick says, before making his way into the kitchen and out the back door. He finds Damian crouching with one of his hens in his arms. At least half of the clutch are cuddled around a put-upon looking Titus. Damian’s not chasing after the other hens to give all of them hugs, so this is more about receiving the love than giving it. Damian’s still upset. What about, Dick’s unsure. Of course, Tim and Jason’s relationship is a shock, but it shouldn’t be inciting this kind of a reaction in Damian. “Good morning, little D.”

The reusable egg container has a dozen eggs in it, one for each hen. “Did Ophelia finally lay an egg?”

“Tt.” Damian nods.

“Well, breakfast is almost ready,” Dick says, crouching down behind Damian to pull him into a hug without disturbing Ophelia. Damian tenses, but accepts it. Dick decides to test the waters and peppers kisses on top of Damian’s head, but no arm comes up to swat him away. “I think Alfred needs those eggs.”

‘“Then take them in yourself.”

“I distinctly remember Bruce telling you that if he got you hens, you’d be completely responsible for them.”

“Fine!” Damian shoves him away, leaving Dick with his ass on the ground and Ophelia, startled, in Dick’s lap. Damian winces and pets Ophelia gently in apology. Then he grabs the container and stomps inside.

“Hey! Where’s Bruce, anyway?” Damian silently points towards the cemetery before slamming the door behind him. “Okay, guess I’ll go get him. Good job, Ophelia, good girl,” He stands up, taking Ophelia and dumping her near Titus before walking towards the cemetery.

Dick’s halfway there when he sees Bruce come out of the shrubs that lead in. His eyes are red. He stops when he sees Dick.

Things are so different now.

When he’d been young, he’d never second-guessed running over to Bruce and giving him enthusiastic hugs. But he’s older now, and they’ve both grown bristles. It’s hard to get close without catching on each other’s barbs. And Bruce is the mentor, the _father,_ even if he’ll never replace _dati_ and _dja_ ; he should be taking the first step. But after losing Bruce and having to be the mentor, to raise Damian with no one but Alfred to help, Dick is beginning to understand how hard that can be, especially for Bruce. So he swallows and walks, then jogs until he’s leaping into Bruce’s outstretched arms. 

Bruce keeps them from crashing into the ground by weight and sheer force of will, and as they sway together for balance, Dick’s arms cross over Bruce’s shoulder. “Go ahead. You can yell at me for being too old to do this.”

Bruce’s hands hang awkwardly by his side. _Shit._ Dick’s already made the wrong move. He tenses and then forces his body to relax and pull away from Bruce as if it doesn’t mean anything. But as Dick retreats, Bruce brings his arms up, wrapping them tightly around Dick’s back.

“Too heavy, maybe. Who gave you permission to grow up in the first place?” Dick grins and presses the side of his head against Bruce’s. “Dick…”

“Yeah?” Dick pulls away to look Bruce in the eye. He’s terrified. A part of Dick rejoices that he’s allowed to see this much vulnerability from Bruce. Another part of him hates himself for being so emotionally needy.

“I cannot lose them. Not again.”

Dick remembers packing up his things. He remembers Alfred begging him to take some money, and storming out the house. He remembers waiting, naively waiting, always waiting for Bruce to come chasing after him. To make him come _home._

He thinks about lying in the master bedroom with Damian between them, Bruce’s protective arm over them both, his eldest and his youngest. He thinks about how much it must cost Bruce to trust him with this.

“Do you disapprove of them being with men?”

“No!”

“Chill, I didn’t think you did. Kate would have killed you anyway. Do you disapprove of them being with each other?”

“No. They seem to be good for each other. They’re good on cases together.”

Dick rolls his eyes. Of course, that’s what matters. “Then just tell them that. Be honest and treat them as your equals. It’s all any of us have wanted from you.”

He lets go of Bruce to walk back towards the house.

“I… Dick, wait.” Dick ignores the instinct to rebel and obeys, turning around to face Bruce again. “I think Damian’s upset.”

_I don’t know why and I need your help,_ he doesn’t say. But Dick’s learning to read between the lines.

“You’re right. B-plus in parenting, B.”

“Excuse me?” Bruce asks, walking up to him. They pick up the pace together. “Only a B-plus?”

“Yeah, you recognised that your kid’s upset. And you gave the responsibility to a clutch of hens.”

“Damian wouldn’t have told me anything if I had asked directly. And he doesn’t easily accept physical affection unless it’s from you,” Bruce replies. “I thought he would feel better with his animals until he was ready to talk.”

Dick reassesses it and comes to, “Okay, A-minus. That was smart, but you should have stayed with him. Annoy him with your presence long enough, and he’ll spill.”

From the corner of his eye, he catches the smirk on Bruce’s face. “Sage advice.”

Dick grins at his father. “I’m great like that. Now let’s go deal with the hellions we call family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a small inquiry for all of you readers and would really appreciate your input on this. When I started this story, I was most interested in the dynamics of the Batfam in quarantine. Unlike the Clench, there wasn't as much they could do as superheroes here, so I wanted to explore that, especially while taking Tim's weak immune system into account. Now, I made Dick a detective without putting too much thought into it because it was canon at some point and that boy needed a job. However, considering the Black Lives Matter movement and violent attacks by police on peaceful protesters in the US, I feel it's disrespectful of me not to reference it considering the timely nature of this story. 
> 
> I didn't include Duke Thomas in this story for one reason: I haven't read DC comics since before Duke existed and I didn't want to just add him without knowing anything of his character and writing him badly. And I don't want to add him now as a token black character just for the sake of it. However, I was considering exploring Dick's relationship to BHPD during these protests, but I'm not sure whether I have the right to be writing that. 
> 
> I'm a brown Canadian woman who lives in Switzerland, I don't really have the right POV to be speaking out, but it feels disingenuous to ignore the entire movement. However, I don't want to offend or hurt, especially not my Black readers, through my ignorance. I also don't want someone to read this story five years from now (lol as if that would actually happen) and either a) wonder why it wasn't included or worse, b) not realise something very important is missing because once again, people forgot about it as soon as the news stopped reporting it. 
> 
> Anyways, I don't really know what to do so I want to ask you, my readers, what you think I should do. I really look forward to hearing from you, and as always, thank you for reading! <3


	12. Bruce and his children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce finally gets an A in parenting.

Bruce enters the dining room with Dick to find breakfast well underway. Stephanie seems to be in a contest with everyone to see how many scones she can eat in one sitting. Cass is watching raptly while taking small sips from her steaming hot mug of the mao feng green tea she likes to have in the morning. At the foot of the table, Tim is pouring himself a cup of coffee. Usually, the seat at Bruce’s right is reserved for him, unless Dick is visiting, in which case, Tim sits to Dick’s right. Tim’s looking for equal footing. Bruce realises wryly that this sort of forethought is why the board is far more terrified of Tim than Bruce. To Tim’s right, Jason smothers a scone with clotted cream and strawberry jam before placing it on Tim’s plate. His hand freezes in place as he notices Bruce. There’s a terse silence, then Jason pulls his hand back and picks up the other half of the scone.

“Good morning,” Bruce says, walking towards the head of the table. The seat to his left is suspiciously empty. “Where is Damian?”

Tim points downwards, rolling his eyes as he absentmindedly grabs his scone and takes a small bite out of it. Bruce shares a look with Dick and decides to take point. He pulls his chair out of the way and bends down. “Damian, what are you doing?”

Damian, with Alfred in his arms and Titus in front of him, huffs. “Obviously sitting with the only ones in the room that merited my presence until you arrived, Father. Finally, we may have breakfast.” He sets Alfred down beside Titus and climbs out, standing up and straightening his pyjamas before sitting himself down. Bruce shares another look with Dick, who shakes his head. Bruce asks no further, and sits down as well.

“Yo Timmy, pull the breaks,” Steph whistles, and Tim looks up at them with those deceptively innocent eyes of his.

“What?”

“You just single-handedly demolished that entire pot of coffee. Put it down, Timothy. You’re not Hawkeye. Jason, I’m sorry but what’s the fucking point of you if you can’t stop your boyfriend from making dumb ass decisions like that?”

Jason’s glare would probably have the Black Mask sweating buckets. Steph answers it by sticking her tongue out at him.

“Tim, no more coffee for you. Steph, _language_.”

To be honest, Bruce could really use some coffee right about now. And just in time, Alfred enters. “Here’s a fresh pot, Master Bruce. Master Tim, you’ll have three cups of water before I make you any more coffee. Master Jason, I suggest you grab your mug before it’s commandeered.” Jason’s glare softens at Alfred words but he also reacts fast enough to move the coffee out of Tim’s clutches. Steph cackles at Tim as he resigns himself to a caffeine-reduced morning. 

They eat breakfast in a strange limbo. Bruce takes the time to think about what he wants to say. Steph and Dick are loud enough to keep the conversation going for everyone else, with Bruce chiming in every once in a while. Once grapefruit slices have been served, Bruce sees Tim set his cutlery down elegantly and sit up straight, getting ready to speak. Bruce sets aside his cutlery and resists the urge to cross his arms.

(There’s a place and time to be imposing, but isn’t it.)

“I’d like to take this opportunity to clear up some venues for potential misunderstandings from last night,” Tim says. The sleep in his eyes is long gone, the coffee having done its job. “Around three am, Jason and I were asleep when Jason had a nightmare and pushed me, quite accidentally, into the bedside table. No, this is not a common occurrence, and no, I don’t have a concussion; Alfred can corroborate this.”

Tim pauses so Alfred can add, “Indeed, Master Tim has mainly suffered cosmetic damage. No concussion that I can see.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Tim continues. “Next: I’m bisexual. No, it’s not a phase, and yes, I’m sure. Jason and I are seeing each other romantically. It’s not recent, and it is serious. Bruce, I understand that you worry about the negative effect this could have on our extra-curricular activities. However, I have a year’s worth of case studies which demonstrate strong evidence for the very opposite trend. We can go through my analyses later if you’d like.” Tim takes a sip of water.

“I understand that this may have a negative influence on the company’s performance in the stock market should the relationship become public knowledge. If there is any long-term drop in stock prices, I will, of course, resign and let you take over again. Bruce, I’m sure you have other reasons as to why this is still a bad idea. You and anyone else here are welcome to state them because let’s be fair, this family isn’t known for minding its own business. But any arguments you have are not going to change how Jason and I feel about each other, or our relationship status.” Tim takes another sip of water and looks at him expectantly.

“I found out about the two of you in September last year,” Bruce finally says. “I wanted to surprise you with lunch on campus. But you were already eating lunch on a bench with Jason. You kissed.”

Tim’s face is marble but his right eyebrow twitches. Jason’s face is slack with shock. He recovers enough to ask, “Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?”

“I wanted you to come to us when you were ready,” Bruce replies. “God knows I’ve revealed secrets that Tim hasn’t wanted revealed before his time.” Steph winces and nods at that. “I haven’t worried about Red Robin and the Red Hood working together in months. You two together have a higher clearance rate than any other pair, excepting myself and Tim.”

There’s a triumphant smile on Tim’s face that he immediately smothers with his trade-mark blank expression.

“But of more concern to me initially was your personal history. Jason, you have tried to kill Tim, twice,” Bruce says. Jason, unlike Tim, has always worn his feelings on his face, and the shame is unmistakable. Bruce doesn’t miss the way Tim reaches for Jason’s wrist, wrapping his fingers around it deliberately. “But I know you’ve come a long way since then. You take such good care of him, Jay. And you’re happier. I’m sure we have Tim to thank for some of that.”

When Jason smiles, it’s at Tim. “And Tim.”

Tim stiffens and somehow sits up straighter than he already was, as if awaiting orders. Bruce bites down on the frown that wants to reach his face. “Of all of your siblings, you’re the one who reminds me most of myself. And sometimes I worry that means sacrificing your personal happiness to put the Mission first. But you’ve grown into a fine young man who is at peace with himself. I’m truly sorry for how little I contributed to that, and for not creating an environment where you felt safe enough to come out to me.”

“Bruce…” Tim’s eyes are filling with tears. Jason is still speechless.

“I didn’t grow up in an environment where queer themes were discussed,” Bruce continues. “Sexuality wasn’t a theme people ever brought up because it was always assumed that everyone was just normal.”

The tension in the room hikes, so thick that it acts as a wall. On the one side, there is Bruce alone, and on the other side, his children, stone-faced and silent. _No._ He’s done it again, he’s ruined everything and hurt the ones he loves the most. He can’t lose them, but he doesn’t know what he’s done.

 _Just forget about your pride and be honest, Bruce,_ his inner voice that sounds like Dick tell him. “I’ve made a mistake, haven’t I? What is it?”

“Well, you just called us abnormal,” Jason bites out. “We might not be normal because we run around Gotham dressed up as bats but being queer doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with us.”

“Of course not, you’re perfect,” Bruce blurts out. He continues while Jason gapes at him. “There’s nothing wrong with you if you’re not straight. I’m not familiar with speaking about these subjects, and I will make mistakes. I will educate myself better, and in the meantime, I only ask that you be patient with me and correct me before getting angry.”

Dick pats him on the shoulder, a smile on his face, as everyone visibly relaxes.

“I went to speak to my parents today,” Bruce continues, because Dick is right. Bruce needs to be more honest with his children. “I had to tell them something important. I never had a chance when they were alive. It wasn’t something I realised about myself until a few years ago, so please forgive me for not being more forthcoming about it.”

He looks at everyone at the table. Dick, his lynchpin, the glue that holds this family together. Damian, who’s the spitting image of Talia but inherited his grandmother’s smile. Jason, the guardian angel, who’ll never let anyone go through what he did. Tim, the smartest, but also, more importantly, the kindest person in the family. Cass, strong and lethal, and soft and gentle at the same time. Steph, who brings joy and laughter like Dick does, but also a fearless ferocity that both impresses and infuriates Bruce. He looks at the empty seats where Babs, Kate and Duke should be sitting. He can feel Alfred’s presence right behind him; his safety, his comfort. This isn’t a League, it’s a Family. It’s missing a few members at the moment, but the ones who are here need to hear this from him.

“I’m bisexual,” Bruce says.

Silence.

Then more silence.

“I didn’t think that it was relevant or important to the Mission, so I never addressed it with you, or even myself for the most part. But it now occurs to me the impact that this could have on any of you.” Bruce continues. His boys are all looking at him like he's grown another head. Cass is smiling at Stephanie, who is groaning. Alfred, his friend, his confidant, his only living parent figure, breaks protocol and rests a hand on his shoulder. When Bruce turns to face him, Alfred is staring at Bruce with a knowing, approving look. That’s embarrassing.

It occurs to him that this might read as selfish.

“I’m not saying it to make this about me,” Bruce adds. “I support you both, and I’m sorry you didn’t have the opportunity to trust us with this, and that you were outed to your family without your consent. I only want you to know that I understand. And at the end of the day, what matters is that you’re part of the Family. Nothing can change that.” _I love you,_ Bruce wants to say, but those words stick in his throat.

As always, Dick ends up picking up the communication tab that Bruce can’t pay. “Basically, we love you, we’re proud of you, and we stand behind you 100%.”

“And Tim, this is really important, so listen carefully,” Bruce adds. “I don’t care how many points the stock prices drop. I don’t care what _anyone_ says,” Bruce pointedly doesn’t look at Damian, who has been silent so far, “that position is yours. As long as you want it, and it makes you happy, you’re the CEO of Wayne Enterprises.”

Tim swallows. Then he nods.

“Anything else?” Bruce asks. “From anyone? Jaylad?”

“I’m good,” Jay says with a grin. “I’m happy to play trophy boyfriend and let the money talk.” He grins at Tim, who smacks him, hard. “Ow!”

“Hey, _I_ have a question, B-man,” Steph interrupts. “Are you sure you’re bi?”

“Quite sure,” Bruce replies, remembering her earlier groaning. “Why?”

“Not gay?”

“Not gay,” Bruce confirms, wondering where this line of questioning is going. Then he narrows his eyes. “Stephanie Brown, have you been making bets on people’s personal lives again?”

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry!” Steph puts her hands up in defence. “But I lost, and now I have to go help Marie Kondo Babs’ apartment before she moves; I’m being punished enough already.”

Dick laughs. “Oh you sweet summer child, don’t bet against Babs, you’ll never win.” Dick takes a moment to grab Bruce’s forearm. “For the record, we love you too, no matter what.”

“Yeah, even if you’re still an asshole,” Jason adds, but graces him with a smile.

“Thank you for trusting us enough to tell us,” Tim says.

“Love you,” Cass says. “All of you. Stupid, but love you still.”

“Well said,” Steph replies.

“She called you stupid, _stupid,_ ” Damian replies, and gets a gentle shove as retribution. “But Father, what made you realise?”

Bruce thinks of cornflower blue eyes and apple pie. “That’s a story for another day, son.” He looks away from Damian to face the entire table. “What matters is that none of you should feel like you can’t come out, or be yourself. Not in this house.”

“For the record, I don’t know if I’m bi, but sometimes when I see Wonder Woman I forget how words work,” Steph muses. Now that, Bruce can relate to well enough.

“I mean, you don’t have to know, you can be questioning for as long as you need to be,” Jason replies, the tension in his shoulders slowly relieving. “But in that particular case, it might just mean you’re a human being, I mean, she’s Wonder Woman.”

“Fair enough,” Steph says. Then smiles like a predator. “What about you, Jason? Are you bi too?”

“Why, did you bet on me as well?” Jason asks.

“Potentially.”

“Split any gains with me, and I’ll tell you,” Tim replies.

“Tim!”

Steph ignores Jason’s outrage and holds out her hand for Tim to take. “That’s a deal.”

“Hold it,” Bruce interrupts. “Jason has a right to not label himself if he doesn’t want to, and we won’t take that right away from him by being insen—”

“I’m demi-sexual, oh my _God,_ Bruce, are you a pod person, stop being so weird!”

Dick grins at that though, and Bruce decides not to take offence. He’s trying, dammit.

“Okay nobody even had that down, who wins then?” Steph groans again.

“I think I do,” Jason replies. “What did I win?”

“Nothing. It’s the losers who each have to eat a whole ghost pepper,” Steph says, turning pale. Dick was right; they’re all hellions.

“Who the hell made this game up?” Dick gapes at her. “That’s insane, Steph. You’re so white, you’re going to die.”

“Yeah, I _know_ that!” Steph moans. 

There’s a pause, and Jason laughs. “This fucking family. Never change.”

“ _Language,_ ” Bruce says automatically, even though he’s silently echoing the sentiment.

“Hey here’s what I want to know,” Dick says, a single eyebrow raised. “Which one of you do I give the shovel talk to? Both? Or do I pick one and Cass takes the other?”

“Leave me out of this.”

“ _Aww,”_ Dick pouts. “Okay, I’ll take Timmy, and you take Jay, little D. What do you think?”

“I doubt that Drake would want me to give his partner a shovel talk. After all, I’m not his brother,” Damian spits out the words like poison. The chair screeches as it’s pushed back, and Damian runs out of the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your amazing comments last time around, I'm still thinking about what to do, but likely will dedicate a few paragraphs to the subject.


	13. Tim and Damian

_After all, I’m not his brother._

Dick is of course the first to go after Damian, leaving the rest of the family to stare at Tim in confusion. Tim closes his eyes and tries to just think. This is beyond the usual bickering they partake in. Damian had been angry with him last night, but Tim had been more concerned with Jason, and assumed that it was just Damian being Damian.

Tim thinks back to what he’d said last night, and winces. This time, the fault lies squarely on him.

“Tim.” Bruce is the first to speak. “I was of the impression that your relationship with Damian had been improving as of late.”

“Yeah, well,” Tim sighs and stands up. “It’s possible that Dames took something I said last night about Jason and extrapolated it to include him.”

“Okay, before my mind goes places that make me nauseated, you need to explain, Timmers,” Steph says with a grimace.

“Tim?” Jason asks, reaching carefully for Tim’s hand. Tim squeezes back for a moment, filling himself with the strength that only Jason can provide.

“I, um, I’m going to go find Damian,” Tim says, and pulls out his phone. There isn’t time to waste, and what’s the point of microchipping your baby brother if you don’t use it to track him every once in a while? He begins to follow the directions on his phone, but a hand on his wrist stops him from leaving the dining room.

It’s Bruce.

“What happened?”

“This is between Damian and me.”

“No.”

Tim sighs. Sometimes with Bruce, there simply is no room for argument. “When he learned about Jason and me, he said he didn’t believe it. He called us brothers. So I may have told him something along the lines of, “he’s not my brother, he tried to kill me and never treated me like a brother”, and well, I guess Damian put two and two together and got twenty-two, instead.”

“Oh _no._ Poor baby demon thinks you don’t consider him your brother?” Steph asks, grimace deepening.

Bruce’s grip tightens. The discomfort must show on his face because behind Bruce, Jason stands up, face dark. “Bruce, let go of him, _now._ ”

To his credit, Bruce lets go immediately, instead cradling Tim’s wrist in his hands. “Where does it hurt?”

Tim quickly pockets his phone with his free hand and places it over Bruce’s. “It isn’t hurting. My wrist has just been a bit sore from the non-stop programming. I’m fine.”

“Bruce, say sorry.” Cass doesn’t need to be loud to have the entire room listen to her. “Tim and Dami _love_ each other. Damian hurt, but Tim will fix.”

“I am sorry, Tim,” Bruce says, feeling along the delicate structure of his hand and wrist. Once he feels sure that Tim’s alright, he lets the arm go. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

“Seriously, I’m fine. Besides, I get it. Damian’s…” Tim thinks about the bratty kid who’s been hounding him to take his daily antibiotics. The boy who literally plops on top of him to make him go to sleep, and then unintentionally wakes Tim up by shaking silently through his night terrors. Tim’s old enough to admit that he loves Damian to pieces and would do anything for him. “Damian’s little. I’d be furious if anyone hurt him, too.”

Alfred the Cat crawls out from under the table and brushes up against Tim’s legs. Tim bends down and picks him up before looking up at the rest of his family. “I’ll fix this. I promise.”

“Of course you will, boy genius,” Steph tells him matter-of-factly. “Now go.”

Tim nods and gives Jason a final look. His boyfriend gives him a reassuring smile. “We’ll make some _kanafa_. Alfred, do you have phyllo dough in the freezer?”

“Of course, Master Jason,” Alfred confirms. “Off you go, Master Tim.”

Tim pulls out his phone again, holding Alfred against his hip as he tracks Damian and Dick. The little blue dot that represents Dick is right next to the green one in Damian’s room. He keeps his phone out and follows the trail, but in the time that it takes him to get there, they haven’t moved. Damian’s door is closed, so Tim knocks sharply on it three times, and walks in before Damian can tell him to go away.

Damian sits at the edge of his bed, a piece of paper crumpled in his hands. Dick is crouching in front of him, his arms bracketing Damian’s thighs. They both look up when the door opens.

“Get out, Pretender,” Damian shouts, or at least tries to, but his voice cracks in the middle of it. It’s all kinds of pathetic.

“What? Sorry, I can’t hear you from all the way down there, pipsqueak,” Tim replies. Dick gives him a warning glare, but Tim’s long made himself immune to that look. “Dick, I need to speak to Damian alone.”

“What part of this situation makes you think I would allow you to speak with me?” Damian snaps, the piece of paper crumpling even more in his hand.

“Can either of you please tell me what’s going on?”

“There’s been a small misunderstanding that I need to clear up with my little brother,” Tim tells Dick. At the last word, Damian actually flinches.

Bingo. He was right after all. Tim had really hoped otherwise, because he isn’t made to deal with feelings. That’s more Steph and Dick’s territory, but this isn’t a situation where he can pass on the awkward conversation to either of them and retreat somewhere safer.

Dick looks at them both, and then slowly stands up before saying, “Okay, but if either of you maim each other, I’ll tell Alfred.” Tim nods. “Good. Damian?”

“Understood,” Damian sniffs.

After Dick leaves, Tim strides forward. As he gets closer, he realises that the paper in Damian’s hands is actually Polaroid photo paper. Tim drops Alfred in Damian’s lap, and uses the distraction to snatch the picture out of Damian’s fingers. “Give it back, you thief!”

Tim takes a leaf out of Dick’s book and handsprings across the bed to the other side of the room, a good five feet away from Damian, who’s unable to react as quickly with Alfred in his lap. He sets his pet down gently on the bed, before standing up on it and leaping at Tim, an angry snarl on his face. But the few seconds’ advantage pays off and Tim manages to smooth out the photograph, recognising it as a shot from Damian’s last birthday dinner. But then Damian lands and the impact punches the air out of Tim’s lungs, sending him careening back against the wall behind him, and they end up in a pile on the ground. Between the acrobatics and the impact, Tim’s ready for pain signals to go off in his brain again, reminding him that he’d crashed head-first into something sharp less than 24 hours ago. However, instead, he realises he hasn’t suffered another injury, because his head is being cradled in too-small hands.

It’s Damian, whose face is inches from Tim’s and radiating raw worry. He must realise that Tim is fine, because the concern is quickly replaced by anger again. Damian pulls his hands away from Tim’s hair, clearly getting ready to retreat. So Tim sneaks an arm around Damian’s back and pulls him close, preventing him from climbing out of Tim’s lap.

“Can we talk?”

“Let me go, now!” Damian pushes against Tim’s chest, pinching his sides rather viciously. Tim rolls his eyes and locks his arms and legs down on the ground.

“Promise we can talk if I do?”

“No!”

“Well then why would I let you go?” Tim asks. He’s hanging on by a thread here. Never mind what Dick or Alfred says, the only reason Damian isn’t putting on a full-frontal assault again is that he’s remembered that Tim is hurt. “Promise not to run?”

“Fine!”

Tim loosens his grip. Damian stiffly climbs out of Tim’s embrace. He crawls into his bed, sitting in the lotus position and pulling his blanket over his legs. Tim climbs in as well, sitting at the foot of the bed. He tucks his knees under his chin and draws his arms around them before sneaking his feet under the blanket. He takes another look at the wrinkled photograph in his hands. It was of the two of them from Damian’s birthday party last year. Tim is smiling at Damian, who is dutifully scowling as he blows out his birthday candles, his eyes betraying his delight. Between them, Bruce stands, his hands over both their shoulders. Tim holds it out to Damian, who snatches it back and shoves it in his pocket, then pulls out his phone and unlocks it. The framing of the photo is pretty bad and it’s a little bit shaky, which isn’t surprising at all, as that had been the day Dick had rediscovered his old Polaroid and gleefully taken it out for a spin.

“Well, are you going to speak or waste more of my time?”

“I really hated you, you know,” Tim says. “When we first met, I tried to be nice, and you tried to kill me. Then you took Robin. Everyone I loved kept dying, and whoever I had left, you took. I really really hated you.”

“Yes, I understand,” Damian says, stony-faced. “Unlike your buffoon of a romantic partner, I am capable of remembering things without it being repeated multiple times.”

“Oh, shut up,” Tim tells him mildly. “Jason’s not stupid, and he’s not you. The first time I met him was at a garden party that I was attending with my parents. They wanted to parade me around like a trophy. Then there was Bruce and Jason. Bruce sent us off to have fun. My parents didn’t really want me hanging out with that “street ruffian”, but what were they going to do, argue with Bruce Wayne? As soon as we were out of their hearing range, Jason told me it was okay if I wanted to go hang out with my friends instead of him. The thing was, I didn’t have any other friends. So we walked around the garden, Jason identifying what he thought were interesting-looking plant species. Boring-ass shit, but I didn’t care. This was the second _Robin,_ my first crush ever _.”_

He remembers the Jason from before, with his easy smile and nervous table manners, and the curls that Tim had desperately wanted to tuck behind his ears. He remembers those eyes too, before the green of the Lazarus Pit polluted them, when they were the colour of Neptune, not Tim’s beloved seafoam.

Damian stops scrolling on his phone at that, but he doesn’t look up. “Go on, then.”

“We promised to hang out. We were neighbours, and I figured it wouldn’t matter what my parents thought because they’d be going on a six-month trip anyway. It’s not like they’d be keeping tabs. And I was wonderstruck. I blushed the whole way home like a Taylor Swift song and my mom thought I was getting sick. He was so beautiful, and I couldn’t wait to see him again. A week later, Bruce brought him home from Ethiopia in a coffin.”

Damian looks up, his face marginally more open. “I didn’t know you’d been acquainted before his return as the Red Hood.”

“He doesn’t remember it,” Tim says wistfully. “But when he came back, I hated him, too. I put up with him for Bruce’s sake and then for his memory. Then over time, we worked together, and I learned to forgive him. And if I can forgive a grown man for going through one psychotic break after another, and attacking me, then I can forgive a child who had never been taught to know better.”

“I am _not_ a child—”

“Of course you are, and you deserved a better childhood than what you had in the first ten years of your life,” Tim bulldozes over him. “I’m just saying, regardless of your backgrounds, I didn’t see either of you as my brothers. But you’re not Jason and Jason’s not you. There are big differences not just between the two of you but also in my relationships with you.”

“I see no serious difference. We both saw you standing in our rightful place. We both wanted you dead.” 

“Fine, yes, you both wanted me dead. Big deal, that made three of us; it doesn’t make you special,” Tim quips. He pulls the blanket closer. Alfred whines, walking towards Tim and smacking his shins with his tail before settling into a fluffy pile atop his blanket-covered feet. “Us Robins don’t always have a good relationship with our successors, at least in the beginning. You know Dick and Jason didn’t. And Dick wanted to reach Jason so badly after he came back because he felt like he failed him in his childhood. I didn’t feel like that with Jason, but with you…” Tim looks up at Damian, letting himself feel the twinge of self-loathing that always follows this sight. “You’ve grown so much over the last few years, and I’m so proud of you. But I ashamed at how little a role I played in that growth. I should have been a better brother from the beginning. After all, we are Robins. We share the same legacy.”

“Father’s,” Damian says, with a knowing look on his face.

“Not only,” Tim gently corrects. “Robin is Dick’s legacy. You know that’s what Dick’s mom used to call him right? It means family. At the end of the day, that’s just what it is. Jason was special, because I had romantic feelings for him from the beginning. But the two of us? We’re family, even if it took us a long time to acknowledge it. While staying home the last few months, I’ve realised that I’m tired of fighting it. I like it when you demand that I check your science homework and drag me out for walks with Titus, and I like it when you visit the study and draw while Bruce and I work. I like being your brother. And I’m proud to be your brother. I’m so sorry it took me so long to realise that.”

That’s what breaks Damian’s façade, his face crumbling as his eyes fill with water. Tim’s not sure if he should reach across and hug him, it seems awkward and weird, and both of them are strange when it comes to physical affection. So instead, he crawls over and dumps Alfred in his lap again, and then leans over to grab a tissue from the box on the bedside table to wipe Damian’s eyes gently.

Surprisingly, Damian lets him.

“I would like to play music with you more regularly,” Damian finally says hoarsely.

Tim nods, putting the tissue down on the bed before running his hands over the top of Dami’s spikey, gelled up hair. God, he’s just a kid. “I’d like that, Dames. Playing with you reminded me that I love the piano.”

Suddenly Alfred, probably annoyed — and rightfully so — about being passed around like a sack of potatoes, finally jumps out of Damian’s hold and runs for the window bench seat. The curtains are partially open, letting in a sliver of sunlight. He angles himself until he’s entirely in that small patch.

Damian and Tim share amused smiles, and then Damian swallows, before asking, “How about now?”

Tim thinks about it for a moment. “Yeah, sure. I’ve got time. Any particular piece you wanted to practice?”

“I’ve been composing an adaption of _Portals_ from _Avengers: Endgame,_ if that is of interest to you.”

“Would I be interested in one of the only good things in that clusterfuck of a movie? Like, that’s not even how time travel works.”

“Wait until you invent it before you complain,” Damian says with a sly smile, pulling himself out of bed.

“Okay we both know that I will invent it, and I’m not spending the next decade _not_ complaining when I eventually have the right to,” Tim retorts, standing up as well.

“Timothy?”

“Yes?”

“Do you still,” and Damian’s eyes are welling up again, _Christ,_ what did Tim _do?_ “Do you still want to be dead sometimes?”

“Only sometimes,” Tim tells him honestly. “It’s rare. I’m doing a lot better these days, and therapy helps. Jay does too.”

He’s not expecting for Damian to fling himself at Tim again, hugging him so tight it’s almost uncomfortable. He barely has the time to bring his arms around Damian before he pushes away from Tim. “I suppose you could do worse than Todd.”

Tim raises an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

“Yes, namely, the Clone,” Damian replies, the little shit. “I suppose this is acceptable, as long as he refrains from causing you further bodily harm. If he does, I retain the right to stab him at least once.”

“No you don’t, but thanks, Dames.”

“No thanks necessary, I am the blood son after all,” Damian straightens up and huffs. “The well-being of this family will one day be my responsibility.”

Then he marches towards the door. “Come on then, we’re wasting valuable time, Timothy!”

“Alright, alright, grab your violin and sheet music and meet me in the south wing study. I want to play the grand piano this time.”

“Oh _fine_ , not that there’s really a significant difference between it and the upright in the sunroom,” Damian shoots back as he swings the door open. “Richard, move, you’re in my way. Timothy and I are going to play music!”

Dick gives them a confused look, but moves out of the way and lets Damian rush down the stairs. “Be careful! I don’t care if you’re a ninja, those stairs are slippery!” Then he turns back to Tim. “You two okay?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Tim replies. “Can you call Babs and ask her to postpone my 11 am oral exam? Tell her I owe her.”

Dick smiles at him. “Don’t worry about it, she owes me a favour, I can cash it in.”

Tim’s eyes narrow. “That’s expensive. Why are you wasting it on me?”

“I’m not. I’m just being a good brother,” Dick replies, leaning forward to kiss Tim’s forehead. “Just remember to pass it forward.”

“Timothy, where _are_ you?” Damian shouts from below. “I’m waiting!”

“Coming!” Tim calls out and runs for the stairs.

“Oh, I _just_ said to be careful, dammit!”

As far as big brothers go, Tim guesses he could have a worse example. He enters the study, and joins Damian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally Dami and Tim clear things up:) The next chapter is taking a bit longer but it's on the way:) Stay safe, everyone:)


	14. Jason, Steph and Dick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jason returns to his childhood bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: I am so sorry this took forever! I had a couple of hectic and mentally taxing weeks, and then when I sat down to write, I ended up writing a depressed!Tim chapter that didn’t fit at ALL in this story, so that was 5000 words I had to cut and save for another story and start again. Also I sent this chapter to my beta two days before we were going away for a long weekend together so obviously it didn't get beta'd for a while. Thanks to Rachel for the quick and awesome beta as always though!!!
> 
> TW: mention of police violence on peaceful protesters.

“Oh, that is one upset set of eyebrows. Did someone dog-ear a book again?”

Jason looks up and finds Tim at the head of the bookshelf, hip leaning against one side. It’s Saturday morning. Jason’s in the library, sitting on the floor and examining the bottom shelf. “I’m just looking for a book. But a lot of the books in this collection are really old; you really shouldn’t be damaging them.”

“Hey, you’re in the 800s, this is all poetry. So it definitely wasn’t me,” Tim says, hands up in defence. “Besides, Jason, you’re the only person in this entire family who even likes poetry.”

“Yeah, Tim, I know that,” Jason grumbles. “But I checked the log, and no one’s taken it out in years. I have no idea where it is.”

Tim furrows his brow. “Did you check the online log?”

“Yes, Tim, I checked your online log,” Jason replies dryly. It used to be a big old log where you literally signed out books, but of course, that all changed once Babs and Tim teamed up and ambushed Bruce some years ago.

“Hey, the system works! We even got Kate to return that book she borrowed in the 90s.” Tim holds out his hand and Jason accepts it, using it to pull himself off the ground. “Let’s go double-check.”

“I thought you were video-calling your brat pack?” Jason asks as he lets Tim drag him by the wrist over to the big desk by the windows, the one housing a computer and various office supplies.

“Bart’s running late, so we’re holding it fifteen minutes later,” Tim says with a roll of his eyes. “I _know._ I think it’s a speedster thing. They’re always late. Anyways, what’s the name of the book?”

“It’s _Collected Poems of Frank O’Hara_ ,” Jason replies. He hasn’t read it in years. But he’d woken up today, smoked one of two daily cigarettes while watching Tim drink his third cup of coffee, and thought of O’Hara.

“That sounds familiar.” Tim scrunches up his nose. “You’re not going to start reading me poetry again, are you?”

“You know, some people like having a romantic boyfriend,” Jason teases. “And I’ve never read you O’Hara. He isn’t Keats; I think you’d like him.”

“Well, I think I’ll be the judge of that.” Tim turns to the cabinet behind the table and slides the door open, revealing the old logbooks. He runs his fingers over the years on the spines and pulls out one from ten years ago. He plops it down on the table and flips through the pages until he finds what he was evidently looking for. “Ha. I knew it sounded familiar. I told you babe, no one but you reads poetry in this house.”

“What do you mean?” Jason asks and leans in to look at what Tim’s found.

Tim leads him to the right spot with his finger. “See?”

On the third line of the page, in Jason’s jagged cursive, is the title and the date the book was borrowed. Under the return date column is an empty space.

“How the hell did you remember that?”

“I wasn’t allowed to add your entries from before to the online log. And we weren’t supposed to go to your room to get them from your personal library.” Tim looks up, a blush creeping up his neck and cheeks. “Nobody liked to talk about you. But I was curious. So I used to look at the kind of books you liked to read.”

Jason is disgusted with himself at how he finds that cute rather than creepy _._ “What did you find out?”

“That you’re a big old softie,” Tim replies with a cheeky smile.

“I am the motherfucking Red Hood.” Jason crowds him against the table until they’re pressed hip to hip, Tim’s arms stuck between their chests and Jason’s arms caging Tim in place.

“Yes, the big bad Hood who loves poetry and regency romances, and checked out _Jane Eyre_ four separate times,” Tim drawls as he moves his hands up and locks them possessively behind Jason’s neck.

“I don’t know if it’s creepy or genius that you remember this so well.”

“Some would say romantic. Now go get your book so you can read it to me.” Tim leans in for a kiss, but Jason shies away, taking a step back. “What?”

“I thought Bruce didn’t let anyone go into that room.” 

“Tough shit, it’s your room,” Tim retorts, and closes the gap between them, grabbing Jason’s hands and placing them on his hips again. Jason kind of hates how quickly his body moves in acceptance. “He can’t argue against that, it’s what he always said when he caught any of us trying to sneak in.” Tim leans upward again. “Now kiss me before I find someone else to make out with.”

“Okay, but if this starts a screaming match, I’m blaming you.” Jason leans down and presses their lips together, once, then twice.

“Sure. And while you’re at it, go sort out what you want to take home,” Tim says against his mouth. “It’s _our_ apartment, you should bring your things too. And no, the shitty furniture from your safehouses that look straight out of pre-makeover _Queer Eye_ apartments doesn’t count.” Something buzzes between the two of them and Tim pulls out his phone from his pocket. “Oh. Bart’s finally getting online. I gotta go.” He looks up to lock Jason in place with his eyes. “You’re the bravest person I know, Jay. You got this.”

He leaves Jason with a dizzying kiss that tells him exactly who he belongs with.

And that’s how, instead of spending the morning reading poetry and lazing about, Jason finds himself alone in his childhood room, sneaking in and shutting the door before anyone realises what he’s done.

The room is dust-free, so clearly, Alfred’s allowed in. But nothing else has changed. With one look, he’s entered a time machine and landed on the night before he’d left to find his – to find her. At his desk, there’s a pile of papers, stacked beside the 10th edition of the Campbell _Biology_ book, that he recognises as an essay on food webs that he’d never gotten to hand in. On the bedside table, a copy of _From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs Basil E. Frankweiler_ still has the bookmark that Bruce had stuck in it before bedtime. His tennis shoes are sitting next to the bed, just where he’d left them.

He hates the quiescence of it with a fury he hasn’t felt in a long time. He storms right back out and into the kitchen to get trash bags, ready to just grab everything and throw it all away. He barrels past Dick, who’s nursing a mug of hot cocoa alone on the kitchen island, and startles at the sight of him. “Jason?”

“Fuck off,” Jason tells him, as he pulls out the entire roll and begins to stomp back up the stairs. Then he stops, and walks back. Something’s wrong. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I resigned,” Dick says.

Something about Dick blows half the rage right out of him. Jason looks at Dick, his tired face, the slump of his shoulders. His shaking fingers. He looks at the newspaper facing Dick, open to a Gotham Gazette article headlined: _BHPD incites violence at a peaceful protest_ : _2 dead and 15 injured._

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“There isn’t much to say,” Dick tells him. “I realised that I’d become part of a system secure in zero-accountability. So I got out.”

Jason looks at his big brother. He thinks about how Dick used to sit with him through his homework, the rare times when Dick had shown up without fighting with Bruce. He remembers eating contraband powdered doughnuts in the wizened oak tree with Dick so Alfred wouldn’t find out. “I’m cleaning out my old room. Wanna come help?”

Dick jerks his head up. “Did you… did you tell Bruce —”

“Hell no,” Jason retorts. “It’s my room. I don’t need his fucking permission to go through my own shit.”

Dick flinches. Okay, so maybe that was overkill. Dick’s more brittle than Jason’s seen him in a long time. Before he can think about and potentially fuck up an apology, Dick says, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Jason looks at Dick again, at the fine lines on his forehead, the mortality in him. “Come, help me.”

Dick nods before picking up his mug and following Jason up the stairs. The first thing Jason does is open the windows wide to try and get rid of the old air freshener smell.

“I don’t want to keep any of my clothes. Can you go through them and see what could still be donated, and what might have had damage?” Jason asks, pointing to his built-in closet. “Same goes for the shoes and other shit in there. I know Alfie’s kept them well, but it’s been years. Dick, are you just gonna stand there all day?”

Dick stands at the threshold, looking around the room with glassy eyes. At Jason’s question, he takes the first step into the room, hand running across the doorframe. “Sorry. Sure, I can do that.”

Dick’s presence in the room somehow calms Jason like a well-brewed mug of camomile tea. He heads to the hardwood shelves that he’d built into the walls with Bruce. They’re overfilled with books. A lot of them belong to the library, but some are his own. Bruce had told him that he could keep his favourites in his room to read whenever he wanted. But he’d also bought him more books than Jason was sure he’d be able to read in a year.

He’s checking Tim’s online database to see if he has a copy of _Maus_ at the Nest when Dick starts giggling.

“What now?” Jason asks absentmindedly as he realises that he does indeed have a copy with Tim and sets the comic book on top of the donation pile.

“You little thief,” Dick says, holding up a white t-shirt with the Hudson University logo in light blue blazing across the chest. He’s sitting on the floor, the contents of the vacuum-sealed bag in a messy pile around him. “I’m reclaiming this!”

Jason looks at the shirt that he used to wear as a nightshirt and remembers how it used to come nearly to his knees. He remembers the day he’d stolen it from Dick’s duffle bag, taking advantage of Dick and Bruce’s argument to get to his goal. “Whatever, it’s too small for me now anyway,” Jason says, putting his fingers up to make quotation marks before adding, “Big Bird.”

“Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, it’s ancient, only Tim and Dami could fit it anyway. Oh, do you think if I give it to Dames, he’ll give me my _Blackpink_ t-shirt back?”

“ _Blackpink_ what?” Steph asks, her head peeping through the slightly ajar door. “Are we allowed to come in here now?”

“If I say so, yeah,” Jason replies.

“Then can you please say so? I’m avoiding Bruce.”

“Story of my life, Blondie, come in,” Jason says. “Do you want books? I’m donating that pile, but if you want any, they’re yours.”

“Nuh-uh, I’m not Marie Kondo-ing for you, I still have Babs’ place to go through,” Steph replies, picking up the book sitting on top of the donation pile. “Oh but this sparks joy. What’s _Will Grayson Will Grayson_? Is it gay? It looks gay.”

Jason’s not sure how Steph got that from the book cover, but well, she isn’t wrong.

“It’s very gay,” Jason confirms. “You can have it.”

“Thank you very much,” she says, and sets herself up on the window seat, her long legs crossed in front of her. “God _damn_ this room is so much cooler than the attic, but _how_?”

“I dunno, but it’s great in the summer. It’s a bit draughty in the winter though,” Jason muses, reminded of the giant pile of blankets he used to sleep under. Alfred had tried so hard to convince him to move to a different room. Still, he remembers refusing adamantly because this was the room that Bruce had given him. It didn’t matter that Bruce had just chosen a random place no one had been in in years because it had a nice view, it was his and Jason didn’t want another. Besides, once he’d gotten over his wariness of Bruce, Jason had liked having the excuse to cosy up in Bruce’s bed, to sprawl over Bruce’s big frame or curl up against his side. 

“That’s fine, you have that fireplace. Oh man, going to sleep with a fire going in the winter? What a frigging dream.” Steph settles down with the book, shoving earbuds into her ears. “I’ve never had a bedroom with a fireplace in it.”

Tim finds it weird that Jason and Steph get along so well, but even though she’s Tim’s ex and it should be weird, she’s the only one in the Family who’s almost always on the same wavelength as him. It might come from growing up in inner Gotham, or because they both have a couponing addiction that’s reserved for Thursday evenings, but Steph _gets_ it.

Maybe going through his childhood belongings should be a more traumatic experience, but with Dick carefully going through his clothes, and Steph a relaxed presence as she reads away, it feels natural. It feels right.

The sun has crossed halfway through the sky before Alfred shows up with a tray of filtered water and glasses. He passes them out to the three of them, coming to Jason last. Alfred doesn’t say anything, but he does pat Jason’s shoulder before leaving. As he crosses the threshold, Bruce’s voice comes through. “Steph, you know you’re not supposed to be in there.”

Jason and Steph tense up simultaneously. Bruce appears in the doorway, looking at the pile of filled bags around Dick, and the book in Jason’s hand. _“What are you doing?”_

“Cleaning out my room.”

Bruce nods once, jagged and stiff, and closes the door behind him as he turns around and leaves.

“Awkward,” Steph says as she flips a page.

“Okay, I’m done with these,” Dick says, standing up. “I can go put them in the van. Do you want me to get cardboard boxes from the garage for the books?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

When he leaves, Steph puts down her book for a second and looks up at Jason. “Do you think he’s gonna go start beef with Bruce?”

“No, he’s too tired to start a fight today,” Jason said. “He just quit the BHPD. Besides, I figured it was your day to fight with Bruce. What did he do, anyway?”

Steph groans and turns on the bench until she’s facing Jason and kicks her feet up onto the bed. “The attic was getting really hot, and I couldn’t sleep last night, so I crashed in the Cave. Bruce found me and tried to give me a room.”

“Oh no,” Jason says, sarcasm dripping off his tongue. Is this what it feels like to be Tim? It’s great. “A billionaire offered you a more comfortable room in the house you’ve already been staying in for three months.”

“It’s an extraordinary circumstance! I had this crazy semester, and things were chaotic at my mom’s hospital. I’ll be out of here by next week. I don’t need him to adopt me, I have a mom.”

“Didn’t semester end like three weeks ago?”

“Shut up!” Jason rolls his eyes and stands up. “I swear to God if you try to hug me I’ll punch you.”

“Eww. Do I look like Dick to you? Move your feet.” Jason walks over to her and sits down on the bed to face her. He opens the drawers under the window seat to reveal more books, stacked with their spines facing upward. He begins to pull them out.

“Oh my God, you keep books like Rory from _Gilmore Girls,”_ Steph says with a gasp. “You nerd.”

“Rory is amazing, and if you insult her, our friendship is over,” Jason tells her. “You don’t have to feel bad about prioritising your studies. Your mom understands that. She’s not going to think you abandoned her or left her when she needed you.”

“She’s been alone for months,” Steph says. “I feel like I should have been there for her.”

“She was working with infectious patients; she was going to have to isolate herself from you anyway. So stop blaming yourself. You don’t have to have a room here, but having one doesn’t mean you’re telling her to fuck off or something.”

“You know Jon Kent has a room here, and he’s Superman’s kid,” Dick announces as he returns, hands full of folded cardboard boxes. “It’s just how Bruce shows his love.”

“Then how come Kon doesn’t have a room?”

Dick laughs. “Because Bruce’s greatest fear in life for the longest time was that Tim would date Kon. Lucky you intervened, Little Wing. Now which one’s the donation book pile?”

Jason points the right pile out, and Dick sits down and starts filling a cardboard box with them. “Just hold on, I have a couple more drawers to go through and then I’m done with the books.”

“What else is there to do?”

“The photo frames. Can you pack them all for the Nest?”

“Sure. And then I guess it’s just the under the bed storage?”

“Wait, the bed’s got storage?” Steph asks, putting the book down again.

“Yeah, it opens up,” Dick tells her. “We used to hide snacks in there from Alfred. Oh God, I hope they’re not still down there.”

“I mean, we’d have smelled it by now, no?” She asks, putting the book away and sitting up, her feet crossed on the cushion. 

“Oh Steph, you sweet summer child. Don’t you know that gummy bears can’t really go bad?” Dick asks her. “That’s why they’re the best food group.”

“I sincerely hope you’re not passing your horrible dietary choices on to Damian,” Jason says.

“Nah, once I saw Damian force-feed Dick hummus,” Steph says. “Also, are you sure that you wanna move out of here? This has got to be the coolest room in the house, Batcave excepted.”

Jason and Dick share a knowing look, but neither speak up. Steph stands up and walks over to Dick, picking up the pile of photo frames that Jason had made as he moved them to get to the books behind them. Soon enough, there are boxes labelled “books: donation”, and “books: penthouse”, in Dick’s loopy handwriting.

“Oh my _God_! Little Jason was so frigging cute! Look at those curls! What happened to your curls? Wait, it’s you and _Dick_!”

Dick smiles. “Show me?”

She holds out a photo of them in khaki, hills and woods behind them. “Oh yeah, that was a summer camping trip. We found a tick in his hair when he came home.”

“I was grossed out for _weeks_ after that, why do people go camping?” Hell, it’s making Jason’s skin crawl now. “I will never understand that shit.”

“Aww, little city baby, you had no idea what was coming for you,” Dick teases. “Steph, it was so funny.”

“Nah, I’m with Jay here, camping’s stupid as fuck. We literally created societies so we wouldn’t have to do that.”

“Thank you!”

“You’re welcome! Now, you know you have to bubble wrap frames, right?” She says, standing up again. “I bet Alfred has some, somewhere.”

Once she’s left and is out of hearing range, Dick voices what they’re both thinking. “Oh my God, this room is perfect for her. She loves it, and you don’t want it.”

“And it’ll finally bring some life back into the room, literally,” Jason says.

Dick rolls his eyes. “Haha, death jokes, so unique.”

“I know, I’m clever like that.” Jason grins.

He sets down the last book on top of the donation pile and moves to his desk, pulling out all the papers in the desk organiser to make a big pile. Then suddenly it’s just Jason and his desk, and his very late homework and a room that’s barely his anymore.

“You okay?” Dick asks from behind him, his steady footsteps bringing him closer and closer. A reassuring hand on his shoulder grounds Jason. With his other hand, Dick touches the paper on top of the file. “Oh. I remember this.”

 _My Hero,_ the title of the essay says. And Jason remembers too. He remembers sitting in the kitchen. Alfred had been outside pruning his roses while a visiting Dick came to collect fifty dollars an hour to make sure Jason did his homework. As if Jason didn’t love doing homework.

“God, I was such a little shit,” Jason says. “Didn’t I tell you something about how you weren’t needed anymore since I was around? No wonder I got replaced with the best Robin.”

“Maybe, but being Robin made you magic, that’s what made you special.” Dick leans down and kisses the top of his head.

“Really, after everything he didn’t tell you, that’s what he decided to share?” Jason asks. “And get off of me.’

But he doesn’t push Dick away when he wraps his arms around Jason’s shoulders, rests his pointy chin on Jason’s head, and begins reading from the second paragraph. “‘But I didn’t want to be like Bruce. If anything, I wanted to be like my brother Dick. I’m not sure he even looks at me the same way but when I look at him I can see everything that I could be’.” His voice wavers as he reads the next sentence, which had been crossed out, his arms tightening around Jason. “‘He does a lot of things for me, sometimes I feel like he loves me. I know I love him.’ Oh, Little Wing. I’m so sorry. You should always have known I loved you… because I did. Even when I was angry at Bruce and unfairly taking it out on you. I still do. So much.”

For a moment, he’s that little kid again. The manor is just a big old house that’s echoing its silence until Dick comes home. Sure, sometimes the quiet is replaced with horrible shouting matches, but other times he gets to hang out with his big brother, and he’s never had one before. He doesn’t know how to be a good little brother, but he’s _trying._

“I know, Dickiebird. We’re good,” Jason says as he returns to the present, voice cracking embarrassingly.

They stay silent for a long moment, even though Dick’s head on top of his is uncomfortable, to say the least, and Jason’s sure this is getting more awkward by the second. Finally, when Jason can bear it no more, he pushes Dick away, who lets go but sits on the bed next to the desk instead. “What are you doing with it?”

“Recycling, I guess.”

“Can I keep it?”

“If this ends up on twitter, I’ll get Tim to make Discowing go viral.”

Dick winces. “Okay, that’s fair. We have a deal.” He picks up the paper gingerly and folds it carefully into quarters before putting it in the pocket of his flannel shirt.

There’s a photo frame on the desk as well, and Dick picks it up. It’s a family portrait. Bruce is sitting on the recliner in his study with Dick standing behind him, and Jason is leaning against a hand rest.

“How was that ten years ago? I’m starting to feel old.” Dick comments.

“Only starting to?” Jason teases, as the door opens up and Steph walks back in.

“Sorry, I got distracted. Did you know Damian’s never popped bubble wrap before? The poor, deprived child. Obviously, as his Batgirl, I had the responsibility to educate him. And now I’m here to help.”

“Whatever happened to no Marie Kondo-ing?” Jason asks.

“Oh, that was before I realised I could stare at all these old photos of you guys. I can’t believe there were days before Bruce developed that frown line between his brows.”

Dick laughs. “Fair enough. Hey, don’t forget this one,” he says, still holding on to the photo frame, his fingers ghosting over younger Jason’s face.

“You can have that one if you want,” Jason says quietly. Dick looks up at him with a manic smile, and Jason puts his arms up because there’s only so much of Dick’s cuddling he can take in one go. “But not if you attack me with your hugs again!”

“Fine!” They return to relative silence, as Dick joins Steph in wrapping the frames and packing them away. Jason looks at the rest of his desk and decides he doesn’t need anything here. He dumps the rest of the papers into the recycling. He moves the comforter and blanket to the bench and opens up the bed. 

And sure enough, in the area under the mattress, the gummy bears and bags of Doritos are long gone. There are the blankets he’d use in the winter, as well as spare bed covers. Only one other thing remains: a shoebox that he’d decorated with sparkly green wrapping paper with Alfred so that he could use it as a keepsakes box. Jason’s Christmas presents had come wrapped in that paper, and he hadn’t been able to bear throwing it away.

He picks up the box and closes the bed before sitting on top of it. He wonders if this is a good idea, opening this thing that could potentially trigger something violent in him. It might be best to do it somewhere safe, where he couldn’t and wouldn’t hurt his family. _You’re the bravest person I know, Jason,_ Tim’s voice reminds him. And looking at Steph and Dick, smiling at each other as they sit on the floor, he actually feels brave for a change.

“Whatcha got there, Jason?” Steph asks when she sees the box.

“Keepsakes. Stuff from my parents,” Jason says, as he gently lifts the lid off the box.

“Oh, like their wedding rings and stuff?” she asks.

“Nah. I don’t know what happened to Willis’, but my mom sold hers for drugs,” Jason tells her.

Steph nods in understanding. “Yeah, before she got sober, my mom sold heirloom amethyst earrings that my great-grandma gave her for half their worth to get cocaine money. I feel you.”

Jason looks down, and finds Sheila Haywood staring back at him, young and vibrant and smoking. There’s a smile on her face that he recognises from his own face in the mirror, and suddenly, he feels sick. Somehow, Dick must know, because he _moves._ One second he’s on the ground looking up at Jason and the next, he’s holding the wastebasket in front of him as Jason barfs his guts out.

“Steph, take this out. Then go to Alfred, have him make some camomile tea,” Dick orders. When Jason opens his eyes again, the lid is back on the box and Dick’s leading him to the bathroom. “Come on, wash your mouth out, you’ll feel better.”

Jason obeys blindly, then lets Dick lead him back to the room. He sits down on the window bench, breathing in the fresh air coming through the open window. Dick sits beside him, one leg stretched out behind his back and the other sprawled over his thighs. He’s running a soothing palm over his spine. Jason matches his breaths with the rhythm of Dick’s palm. They stay like this until Steph returns, carrying a tray with a teapot and a mug. She sets it down on the bedside table.

“Uh. I can go,” Steph says.

“She was working with him,” Jason blurts out. He’s surprised at himself because he’s only ever told this to Bruce and Tim. But he wants to tell Dick. He wants Steph here because she’ll understand, she’s the only one who can, except Damian, which — God, Jason doesn’t want to think about his baby brother feeling like this. “She was working with the Joker. My _mother._ ”

“Jesus Christ on a pogo stick,” Steph says and sits down on the bed across from them. “That’s fucked up.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, fuck her,” Steph tells him. Which, yeah, he’s thought that before too. But still, she’d been blackmailed. At the end of the day, he’d failed her just as much, if not more than she’d failed him. He’d been Robin, but he hadn’t been able to save her. 

“I have her smile,” he finally says, trying to explain why he’s turned into this stupid fucked up mess. “I found her photo, and she’s smiling, and I didn’t realise before.”

Steph and Dick look at the box on the bed behind her. Dick asks, “Do you want me to throw it away?”

“She was my mother,” Jason says.

“No, she wasn’t,” Dick tries to soothe, but that sounds _wrong._

“No, fuck that shit,” Steph snaps at him.

“Stephanie,” Dick reprimands, but Steph leans forward and grabs Jason’s hands.

“Look at me.” Jason obeys. Her eyes are wet, but her face is resolute. “You can’t change the fact that you’re related to her. And Dick, this isn’t about the found family shit which you know I’m here for. You shouldn’t keep toxic people in your lives, but that doesn’t mean that you won’t inherit things from your parents. I’ve got my dad’s bushy-ass eyebrows. You got your mom’s smile. So what? Sometimes when you’re sparing you move just like Dick. And before you pull a book out of the shelf, you always run your fingers over the spine. Do you know the only person I’ve ever seen do that? Bruce.”

“And you know when Dami gets annoyed and does that little huffing thing? He’s totally copying you!” Dick says. “You get to be the cool brother that he wants to copy while I’m relegated to mother hen.”

“Okay, Dick, that’s kind of on you.” Steph cracks a grin. “So what if you got your mom’s smile? I, for one, am glad you did. I like your smile.”

Jason feels himself smiling uncontrollably. “You just like that it makes Bruce nervous.”

“Well, yeah!” Steph laughs. “But also once, before you two started dating, Tim saw you smile, and he full-on walked into a wall. It was the single greatest day of my life.”

Dick laughs with her and pulls away from Jason to pour him a cup of tea. He hands it over to Jason, who holds on to the mug. “Thanks.”

“Now about the box,” Steph starts. “What do you want to do with it?”

Jason doesn’t think he can look at it again today. But he can’t just throw it away. Jason has things in there that he needs: a brooch that used to belong to his mom — his _real_ mom, Catherine Todd — a baseball that he’d caught at his second Knights game with Bruce, and a Christmas ornament that he’d hand-painted with Alfred. But he’s tired, and he doesn’t want to take it all home yet. “Put it back under the bed.”

“Sure,” Steph stands up, picking up the box and pulling up the bed. She puts it in place and closes the bed before plopping back on it. “It’s not going anywhere.”

“Yes, and now that that’s sorted, what do you say we drop these books off at the library, and maybe watch a movie or something? I feel like we’ve worked really hard all day,” Dick says.

“Don’t you have a training session with Tim at four?” Jason asked. “He said something about endurance training?”

“Oh shit, what time is it?”

“Five to four,” Steph tells him. “He’s probably waiting in the Cave already, so run Grayson, run!”

Dick rolls his eyes, kisses Jason on the side of his nose, evades a slap from him, kisses Steph on the cheek, and sprints out of the room.

“That man is the definition of a menace,” Steph says. “Alright, let’s move these books to the library and then go get some waffles for our efforts. I feel like we’ve earned waffles.”

“Why don’t you go get yourself some waffles? I’ll drop these off, it won’t take long.” Steph just stares at him, like she wants to ask if he’s sure but knows better. “Seriously, it’s fine. I think I want to finish this up myself, you know?”

Steph nods. “Yeah, I get that. Also, I keep fucking up Tim’s system, and he’s going to ban me from there someday. And I can’t have that right now. His entire Marvel collection is in the library, and I’m only as far as Busiek’s _Avengers Assemble_ comics right now.”

Jason laughs. As she makes her way to the door, he calls out to her. “Hey, Blondie?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Like I said before, you don’t have to accept a room from him,” he tells her. “But if you wanted to, you could take over this one from me.”

“What.”

“You know it’s going to turn into the room where nothing happens once all this stuff is gone. Bruce won’t give anyone this room. But you said it yourself, it’s the best room in the house, and I’d want you to have it.”

Steph face finally breaks out into a gleeful grin. “Can you imagine the look on Bruce’s face.”

Jason laughs again. “See, this is why you’re my favourite.”

Steph’s smile somehow gets brighter and broader. “Liar. Tim’s your favourite, but that’s okay, he’s the king of making out, so I get it. Now, excuse me, I need to go order purple wallpaper.”

“Use Bruce’s credit card!” he calls out as the stairs echo the sound of her skidding down its steps.

Then it’s just Jason and the three boxes labelled “books: library”. He drinks the rest of his tea, sets his mug back down on the tray, and then picks up the first box. He’s gotta take care of these himself.

-

Jason’s taking out the books from the third box when he realises that Bruce has been sitting in the corner of the library this entire time, looking out the window. When Jason sees him, Bruce looks up and catches his gaze.

They are frozen in space for a fraction of a second, before Bruce stands up, straightens out his shirt, and walks over to Jason. “Do you need help?” he asks.

“Can you start re-shelving the books on the cart? I’m running out of space.”

“Of course,” Bruce says, and he wheels the cart away.

When Jason comes to find him a bit later, hands full of books that have been scanned into the system for the first time, he catches Bruce setting a book up on the shelf. He runs his fingers over the spine after he puts it in its rightful place.

Jason sets the pile on top of the cart as Bruce turns around to face him. They both look at the book on top of the collection. It’s the one that had been sitting on his bedside table: _From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs Basil E. Frankweiler_ by E.L. Konigsburg. “Do you remember reading this to me?”

“Of course,” Bruce says, picking it up and opening it up to the bookmark. “I took you to the Met after we started to read it. You got that book about hieroglyphics from the museum shop, and spent weeks leaving me notes in hieroglyphic.”

“I’d forgotten about that.”

“I hadn’t.”

Jason doesn’t know what to say to that, so he looks away and begins reordering the books by their Dewey decimals. 

“We should take Damian there someday. He’d love the art,” Jason finally says.

Bruce picks up the next book and turns back to the shelf. “That’s a great idea, son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part about the essay about a hero is from a [comic](https://doc-squash.tumblr.com/post/619559877513216000/getting-there) by [doc-squash](https://doc-squash.tumblr.com/). If somehow you've been living under a rock and missed their AMAZING Batfam art, please do check them out. Thanks for letting me borrow your lines, doc!
> 
> The BLM movement is far from over, as of 29/07/2020, protests are ongoing even if the media isn't covering it anymore. You can still support BLM, here are [8 ways](https://www.timeout.com/things-to-do/how-to-support-black-lives-matter).


	15. The Batfamily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jason has a birthday party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that I throw canon like its shade, and continuity in the trash. I like dad!Roy, so that’s just going to happen.
> 
> Please mouse over the text in Arabic for the English translation, or see the end notes.

It’s a hot summer Sunday afternoon. The air conditioning is working overtime to keep Alfred, and more importantly, the buttercream, cool. The Red Robin Nest is quiet, for now. Timothy and Jason are out on the terrace, setting up the furniture for the evening’s festivities. Alfred is busy decorating the birthday cake: a chocolate and lime cake to which Master Jason has always been partial. Alfred has four cooled and levelled layers of chocolate sponge ready to be stacked and iced.

He turns towards the refrigerator to take out the prefilled piping bag and pauses, his hand wrapped around the handle. Since he’d last visited a few months ago, more recent photographs and post-it notes have been added to the collection. The current page on the notepad reads:

_Hey handsome,_

_The RED Tupperware is your lunch, the purple’s for Steph and has olives in it._

_Yours,_

_Jason_

_P.S.- Alfred dropped off some cookies. They’re downstairs. If you eat them all in one go, I will break up with you._

Alfred smiles at the note, tracing his own name with his fingers. Beside it, there are newer photographs. One Polaroid features Timothy sprawled on the sofa in the living room, staring flustered at Jason, who is clutching his belly in laugher whilst little Miss Lian Harper uses Timothy as a pillow. In unfamiliar handwriting, the photo is titled “Lian adopts a new uncle”. There is one of Timothy and Damian playing the piano in the music room upstairs. His favourite, however, is the wide-shot of Jason and the man whom Alfred has loved and raised as his own, walking shoulder-to-shoulder towards the weeping cherry in the manor gardens.

Alfred smiles, pulls open the refrigerator door, takes the lime buttercream piping bag out, and places a small amount of buttercream onto the cake board before adding the first layer of chocolate cake. He repeats until he has all the sponges stacked. Alfred is just finishing up his crumb coat with the straight pallet knife when he hears a familiar click. He looks up to find Master Tim’s face hidden behind the optical viewfinder of his camera. “Looking good, Alfred.”

“Thank you, Master Timothy,” Alfred replies. “I’ll come to help you set up the grill outside in a moment, this crumb coat will need to set over the next hour.”

“That’s okay, Jay’s on it, I got banished. What do you say to a cup of tea instead?”

Alfred nods. “Of course. I’ll get the kettle going, why don’t you grab the tea set?”

“Oh, I can do it. You’re supposed to be a guest, you shouldn’t have to do all the work.”

“Don’t be a dummy, Tim, it’s not a good look on you,” Jason says from behind as he walks back inside into the open kitchen, pulling open a drawer to retrieve two pairs of tongs and a spatula. “Alfred’s family. He can do what he wants. And he shouldn’t have to suffer through any of the horrendous cups of leaf water you call tea.”

“All tea is leaf water!” Timothy retorts, to which Alfred can’t help but wince. Though he adores his grandchildren, some days he truly must wonder where he went wrong.

“We shall have to disagree. Nevertheless, I think it best for our safety and taste buds if I brew this time,” Alfred says. “Master Jason, would you like to join us as well?”

“I’m good, thanks, it’s really hot outside. I’ll have some water later,” Jason replies, patting Alfred’s shoulder before heading back out to the balcony.

“If you say so, Alf,” Timothy says, and he takes his tea set — a blue porcelain Korean set with two cups and a pot with a wooden side handle — out of the cabinet under the kitchen island. It once belonged to his maternal grandmother, brought all the way from Incheon now nearly seven decades ago. Alfred handles it with care as Timothy sits at the bar, swinging his legs and watching Alfred quietly. He looks healthy, Alfred notes with a not-insignificant amount of relief. It has been a few weeks since Jason and Timothy moved back into the Red Robin Nest, and it is in Alfred’s nature to worry. 

Soon enough, they’re sitting in the living room in comfortable silence, sipping on a Lady Grey that Timothy always has on hand for moments like this. Alfred remembers the state of this dwelling when Timothy had first moved in, angry and lost and grieving: a penthouse that looked more like a hotel than a home. But now he sees the personal touches that weren’t here the last time he visited: the potted herbs in the kitchen, the hand-knit blanket over the couch and the full fridge.

“Oh!” Timothy startles suddenly, his eyes focusing on the bottle of sunscreen on the edge of the coffee table. He sets the mug down carefully and picks up the bottle before heading towards the balcony door and nudging it open. “Jay, did you put sunscreen on?”

“No,” Jason calls back. “I’m not gonna burn like you.”

Alfred catches the roll of Timothy’s eyes. “You can still get cancer, get in here.”

So Alfred sits and observes as Jason rubs the lotion over his own arms, letting Timothy dot his face with sunscreen. Timothy takes his time smoothing it in, making sure to cover his ears. “I can do this myself, you know.”

“Turn around,” Timothy says. Jason obeys as Timothy takes some more sunscreen and applies it to his neck and the back of his shoulders. “Alright, you’re good.”

Jason turns around and catches Timothy in a gaze so intimate that Alfred immediate feels out of place and looks away. He hears a “Thank you,” from Jason and the sound of a quick kiss before the balcony door is shut again. When he looks back, he finds Timothy walking back towards him, a satisfied expression on his face. He sits back down and trades the bottle of sunscreen for his teacup again.

“What is it?” He asks.

Alfred takes a sip of tea to gather his thoughts and then sets the cup back down. “Master Jason grew up always taking care of others. It’s a welcome surprise to see someone take care of Master Jason for a change.”

Tim blushes, looking away. “I don’t do nearly as well as I should.”

“It has been clear to me since the night of Master Jason’s nightmares that though you are not very good at taking care of yourself, you do admirably well in tending to Master Jason’s needs,” Alfred says before draining the last of his cup. He always worries about the children when they inevitably no longer call the manor their home. It started with Bruce’s travels and continues even until today. “Rest assured, I find myself relieved that you are fine without my services.”

“Oh Alfred, we’ll always need you,” Tim says with a pleased smile. “Who else is going to make our birthday cakes? Not me, that’s for sure.”

“All due respect, young Master Timothy, but I pray resolutely that it stays that way.” Even today, over three years since the last Timothy-related fire in the manor kitchen, Alfred swears he can still smell the burning asparagus.

They drink their tea slowly, as Timothy tells him stories about his grandmother, and about plans to visit South Korea sometime next year. He opens up his tablet and shows Alfred pictures of places he wants to visit. This leads to Tim deciding that they have to watch the first episode of _Crash Landing on You;_ it’s admittedly very entertaining.

They’re half-way through it when the kitchen alarm goes off. Timothy pauses the television. “It seems we’ll have to continue another time. I’ve a cake to complete decorating, why don’t you begin setting the table outside?”

“Sure thing, Alfie,” Timothy says. “I’ll just wash up the set first. I’ve seen Dick and Steph break far too many antiques in the manor to even let this into their sight.”

Alfred grimaces in remembrance as Tim collects the set on the tray and stands up. “In that case, I advise undertaking this post-haste. They’ll be arriving soon.”

Timothy winces and walks as quickly as he can whilst holding something so precious and breakable in his hands. Alfred is standing up to follow Timothy into the kitchen when Jason opens the balcony door again. “Alfie, can you tell Tim to take his anti-histamines, please? There’s a ton of pollen out here.”

“Of course, Master Jason.” Alfred nods as he stands up.

“Thanks, Alfred,” Jason says and heads back out, closing the door behind him once more. Alfred smiles to himself as he heads back into the kitchen. Yes, they’ll be just fine.

\---

Bruce sits at the head of the table, observing his children skewer meat and vegetables for the grill. Jason walks over from the grill to drop off a tray of cooked items and picks up another dish, stopping for a moment to drop a kiss on the top of Tim’s head before heading back. Roy Harper waits for him at the grill, glancing at Lian quickly before turning back. Lian seems entirely at ease in Tim’s lap, munching away at the corn on the cob while watching Dick tell an animated story about the Penguin’s penguins. Alfred is also sitting at the table for a change, cutting up chunks of zucchini and eggplant into bite-sized pieces. As Tim and Damian bicker over the bell peppers and Steph shoves the contents of an entire skewer into her mouth, Alfred grabs a mixed veggie and chicken skewer and passes it on to Bruce. “Thank you, Alfred.”

“Alfred you have to eat, too—”

“Finally!” Babs is interrupted by both Tim and the ringing doorbell. He sets Lian down on the bench and jumps up to open the door.

A few minutes later, a very familiar voice calls out, “Hi everyone! Happy Birthday, Jason!”

“Hey guys. Thanks, Clark,” Jason smiles, as he gets ambushed by the Kents. “Kon, if that’s a giant plush animal I am going to get kryptonite.”

“The gift table is over there,” Tim says, and Kon sets down the giant wrapped box on the floor beside it. “And yeah, if that’s a giant plush, I’m giving him the kryptonite.”

Lois and Clark sit down at Bruce’s left while Jon joins Damian. Kon and Tim head back inside, presumably to get drinks, yet Bruce can’t help but glare before turning back to his friends. He finds Clark and Lois smiling at him conspiratorially. “You can’t still be worried about Kon and Tim dating, he’s literally living with Jason,” Clark points out.

“I didn’t know you two were so close to Tim and Jason,” Bruce replies.

“Well, Tim invited Kon and told him to bring us along. I, for one, am not the type to turn down dinner invites from billionaires or their kids,” Lois says. “Especially after I got some juicy news about a certain billionaire and his sexuality.”

“Clark, did you leave your wife at home and accidentally bring Cat Grant?”

Clark laughs, looking at Lois with wonder in his eyes. It’s because it’s Lois that Bruce finds this only half as painful as it should be. “I’m sure it’s all off-the-record, right Lois?”

Before Lois can say anything, Bruce looks down to find Lian tugging at his sleeve. “Yes, Lian?”

“Uncle Jason said if I ever needed anything, I should come to you. That you’ll always be there to help.”

Bruce smiles at her. “He’d be right. What do you need?”

Lian holds out a hair scrunchie. “My ponytail fell out.”

Bruce ignores Lois’ giggles and takes the scrunchie from her. “I can fix that. A high ponytail or a low one?”

“High,” she decisively answers and lets him tie up her hair securely. “Can I stay with you? Damian and Jon are boring.”

“And you don’t want to hang out with Dick or the girls?”

“No, I like you better,” she tells him, and Lois is outright laughing at him now. Well, the jokes on her, because she can’t hound him with questions if Lian’s present. She holds out her arms. “So, can I sit with you?”

“Of course,” Bruce says, picking her up and setting her on his lap. She’s so small. He never had any of his children when they were this young, he thinks wistfully.

“What’s so funny?” Lian asks.

“Oh, nothing,” Lois tells her.

“Grown-ups are weird,” Lian declares and reaches for Bruce’s plate.

“Lian, no, you have your own plate,” Roy says as he drops off a steaming tray for the newcomers. “Why don’t you go back to your own seat and stop bothering Uncle Bruce?”

“No, daddy!”

“It’s fine, Roy,” Bruce tells her.

“Yeah, he’s avoiding a certain conversation with Lois, so he needs the buffer,” Clark tells him with a wink.

“Well in that case,” Roy grins, bringing her bamboo plate and cup over to Bruce. “Be warned, her bedtime is in an hour.”

“Oh, but daddy, it’s Uncle Jay’s birthday!”

“Yeah, that’s why you get cake with all that icing, but bedtime is non-negotiable. Now eat your dinner.”

“Clock’s a-ticking, Wayne,” Lois tells him, but it’s the way that Clark is looking at him that gets to Bruce, his eyes so full of fondness, a look that he reserves for Lois alone.

An hour later, Lian’s been put to bed and Clark’s zooming off to Siberia to put out bush fires. Lois finds him nursing a beer alone on the loveseat, watching the children play _Twister._ Dick has been relegated to referee as he’d otherwise be ‘cheating’, and Jason and Tim are curled up on the loveseat under the magnolia tree. Bruce is expecting Lois, but that doesn’t make it easier. He might be Batman, but Lois Lane-Kent is the greatest investigative reporter on the planet. Still, he’d figured this would happen. He has a plan and years of experience dealing with his feelings for Clark. Lois’ awareness isn’t going to change that.

She holds out her glass of bourbon, and Bruce touches it with his bottle. “I was going to bring some to you too, but Alfred said you won’t drink more than a beer before patrol.”

“My thanks anyway,” Bruce says, then takes a sip of his beer.

“You’re kind of a jerk, you know that?” Lois finally says.

Bruce keeps his eyes on the children, on Jon and Damian on the _Twister_ mat, on Steph curled up on the floor in laughter with Kon. “So I’ve been told.”

“Before he proposed to me, Clark said he loved you.” That stops Bruce’s heart for a second, and then he’s looking at Lois, then at Jon and back at her. “Oh it’s fine, he’s not paying attention. He gets overwhelmed in cities, so he tends to just shut off the super-hearing. Anyways, the point is, Clark told me he loved me too, and that he wasn’t settling for me because you weren’t interested. I’m not blind, I see the way you look at him sometimes, but I figured you were either unaware or repressed or something. So imagine my surprise when Kon came over for dinner and blurted out that you’d come out as bi.”

Bruce resists the urge to get some kryptonite. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I really hate that kid.”

Lois laughs. “He’s technically only eight, give him a break. He just can’t keep a secret if his life depended on it. No, but seriously, were you ever going to tell Clark you have feelings for him?”

“No. Feelings aside, he made a decision. He loves you, Lois,” Bruce tells her. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah, I know _that,_ ” Lois tells him, kicking his shin gently. “See, unlike that farm-bred hick, I’m perfectly aware of what polyamory is, so I told him he could date you if that ever became an option. I already share him with Batman and the League.”

Bruce looks at Lois, this brilliant, open, generous woman. And it only hurts more. “That’s exactly why this is a bad idea, Lois. It’s a complication that could have dire consequences.”

“How much more complicated can it get, Bruce? Look at them,” she says, nodding towards their children. “We’re basically family. It’s only a tiny step more, all things considered.”

“Did you talk to Clark about it?”

“Yeah, but he’s an oblivious idiot,” Lois groans. “He thinks this makes no difference. That you just don’t like him. As if anyone with eyes couldn’t see exactly how much you love him.”

“I can’t risk hurting my family,” Bruce says, and before Lois can argue, adds, “We’d need to set up some ground rules.”

She smirks. “Great, that’s what I figured. Here’s the most important one: I am not co-parenting your insane horde of children. I’d rather be kidnapped by Lex Luthor again.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Bruce replies dryly. “I think Tim’s planning a hostile takeover of a LexCorp subsidiary. Lex will be rather busy dealing with that.”

“See what I mean?” Lois grins. “Now excuse me, I’m rejoining Cass and Babs inside, at least some people in this house will drink and gossip with me.”

Bruce shakes his head. “Don’t let them drag you into any diplomatic incidents.”

“I make no promises,” she calls as she makes her way back inside.

-

Bruce is finished with his drink when Clark returns, back in casual clothing but still smelling of ash. He sits down next to Bruce, slightly squished on the loveseat.

“How are things in Siberia?”

“Hot. But the fires are out.”

“Man-made?”

“Well, only in so far as it’s due to anthropogenic climate change,” Clark replies.

“What are you doing next Saturday?” Bruce asks.

“Well, barring any intergalactic incidents, not much, why?”

“May I come over?”

“Of course. Any reason?”

“To set up ground rules” Bruce replies, feeling like he’s pulling teeth out. Clark’s looking at him in confusion, and Lois is so right, she’s always so goddamn right. Clark Kent is idiotically oblivious. “The only one that Lois mentioned so far is that she won’t co-parent my perfectly reasonable and well-behaved children.”

Clark snorts. “Damian’s trying to stab Tim, _right now_.”

“Sure, but he’s doing it affectionately,” Bruce replies. No one’s even bleeding yet, he doesn’t see the problem. “I think you’re missing the message here.”

“That Lois is completely right in not wanting to co-parent your kids?”

“And why would your wife ever be in the position to have to co-parent them?”

“I don’t know, did you try to ask her out again in a momentary lapse of reason?”

“Not her, you idiot,” Bruce looks skywards. This is going abysmally, but there isn’t even a measly Batsignal to save him. “Though I think I’m already regretting it.”

Clark tilts his head and stares at Bruce. “Are you… I’m sorry, is this you asking me out in the most round-about way possible?”

“Not until after we negotiate any potential relationship, no.”

Clark face breaks into a soft smile. “Alright then,” he says, and he places his hand over Bruce’s, where it’s resting on his thigh. Bruce lets him.

\---

Jason is getting a six-pack of root beer from the fridge when he sees the top of Damian’s head in the dining room. It’s past nine pm, and the sun is just setting. The Kents are long gone. The laughter flows in from the balcony. Jason grabs the six-pack and decides to take the long route to the terrace.

“You’re an unrepentant thief,” Damian says as Jason approaches, not bothering to turn and face him. His baby brother is sitting on the dining table, feet dangling from the end and looking at the gallery wall.

The gallery is, for the most part, bits and bobs of doodles and forgotten artworks, little drawings that Damian does without purpose: mainly pencil sketches of the Family, but also of plants and stacks of books and silly pictures of characters from TV shows like _Avatar: The Last Airbender._ Jason’s favourite is one of Dick twisting Tim’s hair into a Dutch braid, drawn on the back of a social studies homework sheet. Damian had drawn it during movie night a few weeks ago, and Tim had confiscated it the moment that Damian had fallen asleep.

“Bold of you to assume I stole them,” Jason says. He sets down the six-pack, pulls out one can and holds it out to his little brother, who takes it without a glance. He pops the lid as Jason takes a can for himself, and they take a sip together as they face the gallery wall. “Tim swiped most of these, you know, like that one there,” Jason says, pointing.

“It’s a doodle on a napkin from Batburger. Why frame it?”

“Cass was really happy that day. Tim liked how you drew her smile.”

They both take another sip. “If you hurt him again, I will destroy you.”

Jason has to bite his lower lip so he doesn’t burst into laughter. “Ah, so you are taking up Dick’s suggestion after all. And if Tim hurts me, Dickiebird will destroy him?”

“Richard is weak. If Timothy hurts you, I’ll have to destroy him as well,” Damian declares before jumping off the table. He slaps a piece of paper on Jason’s chest before turning away. _“Eyd milaan saeid 'akhi.”_

 _“Shukraan_ , Damian,” Jason replies, his gaze fixed on the sketch in his hands; it’s the magnolia tree on their balcony as it is right now: in full bloom. He doesn’t say _‘ahbak_ as Damian walks away _._ He doesn’t need to.

\---

Tim is collecting the last of the trash into a black bag when Jason returns to the balcony with a steaming espresso maker, two mugs, and the last slice of birthday cake. He straddles the bench, setting down the tray in front of him and lighting up a cigarette.

“That’s one more cigarette than you’re allowed, mister,” Tim tells him as he sets the bag near the door. The balcony is starting to return to some semblance of normal. The grill needs to be cleaned, but that will have to wait until tomorrow. 

“Oh come on, it’s my birthday,” Jason says, holding out his hand and beckoning him over. Tim complies, walking over and climbing over the bench to sit across from Jason. He makes a point of picking up Jason’s phone from the table and pressing the home button. It lights up, informing them that it is actually 00:32. “Okay, in that case, it’s my first one of the day.”

“That would technically make it your only one of the day, babe,” Tim replies. “But I’ll allow an exception.”

Jason laughs, angling his head upwards to keep the smoke from Tim’s face. “Just drink your coffee.”

Tim smiles and reaches for the espresso maker, pouring both of them hot, creamy coffee. He takes a sip, then sets it aside and reaches for the fork in front of them, using it to cut himself a bite-sized portion of the last slice of cake. It’s bitter, tart and refreshing, even if Tim’s stomach groans because he’s eaten more in the previous few hours than he usually does in a day. He scoops up another portion and feeds it to Jason.

They finish up their second dessert of the night in relative silence, only the sounds of Gotham at night reverberating around them. It’s been a few weeks since they moved back into the Nest, but there’s still a blessed relief in being able to be alone once everyone has left. Tim loves his family, but he appreciates the home that Jason and Tim have created in this apartment, this universe of their own.

“By the way, Bruce and Cass said they’d cover our routes tonight,” Tim says after he drains his coffee cup. “And since neither of us has active cases, we’re off for the night.”

“Course you tell me this _after_ I made the coffee.” Tim grins and leans in. Jason obliges him with a thrilling kiss. He pulls him closer by the back of his legs until their knees are knocking and the corners of the tray are digging into their thighs. It’s a pain he can barely feel for the way Jason’s hands burn as they pass over him. 

“ _Oh god, it’s wonderful_ ,” Tim whispers against Jason’s mouth. _“To get out of bed, and drink too much coffee, and smoke too many cigarettes, and love you so much.”_ Jason pulls away, a palm splayed over Tim’s chest, and just looks at him. “What? I can be romantic.”

Jason grins, this gorgeous wicked thing, and scrambles up, taking the tray inside and dropping it unceremoniously onto the coffee table. Tim follows, quickly closing up the balcony and turning the security back on. As the automatic blinds slide down, Jason finally reaches for Tim by the hips, turning him around and slamming him against the glass doors. He kisses him dizzy as he lifts Tim up by the thighs. Tim takes a moment to wrap his legs around Jason and let Jason take his weight. They kiss until they have to stop, until breathing becomes too necessary.

“I knew you’d like O’Hara,” Jason says with a laugh, and Tim loves this man, loves him beyond understanding.

“Are you going to be smug and annoying, or are you taking me to bed, you old romantic?” Tim asks, pulling Jason’s t-shirt up and running his hands up Jason’s back, nails scratching against the back of his shoulders.

Jason’s smile is a signal-fire of guttural need, and Tim answers it with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyd milaan saeid 'akhi: Happy birthday, brother  
> Shukraan: thanks  
> ‘Ahbak: I love you
> 
> \---
> 
> And that's it, folks. This story kept me sane over the past few months of quarantine, and I really hope you liked it! Thank you to everyone who read and like and commented and bookmarked this story, you really kept me going. Also a big thank you to Rachel for the fantastic beta, you're the best! I do have that depressed!Tim fic that I cut out of this story, which will likely be the second story in this series though I can't say when that'll be out... In the meantime, stay safe and take care!

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on tumblr, I'm soniclipstick there too:)


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